Gloss
by Broadway
Summary: Aha! Just when you thought Grandfather Time threw me back like a two-cent hoe, I return! You like Scott/Jean? Remy/Rogue?Willing to taste-test Bobby/Emma and Warren/Ororo? Take a check-out at this COMPLETED story...
1. Default Chapter

I look up from swiping down the place with my white dishrag. Flinging the thing over my shoulder, I put my hands down flat on my bar. "What can I do for ya'?"   
  
He tosses a crumpled five down and mumbles, "the usual." Now, about a months ago, I wouldn't have known what 'the usual' was, 'cause this guy just started comin' around here for his brews, but since then it's been about every other night, and now I know the usual is a Coors, no mug, straight from the bottle: a man's man I suppose. He isn't exactly a lady-killer, but I'll bet he's had his share of women. He's got that wild, bad-boy, loner thing some girls go for, I guess.  
  
He's never told me his name is Logan but I'm pretty sure it is. I know that 'cause one time he brought a pretty lil thing in here and I overheard her say his name once or twice. She's a real sweet thing, lives with him up there in that Xavier Mansion with the rest of them. They're mutants, I'm pretty sure, but that don't bother me none. Money is money and they pay all right, don't start too many fights, except of course for this little charmer here, and leave. One thing I can say, though, the women are beautiful- that's for sure.  
  
I hand him his beer then go to drying some whiskey glasses. I leave the five there; when he's drank his five dollars worth of brew- and he will- I'll just take it up then.   
  
I'm pretty sure I've met all of them that live up there at that Xavier's place. Let's see, there's the Cajun that comes in every once in a while and usually buys a Mary, "extra tomato juice." I raised my eyebrows and shot in an extra teaspoon. Yuck, but it's your dollar, pal. He's a real card. You know the type: always comes in alone, never leaves alone- not ever. I think even once he piled two girls on the back of that Harley of his one Saturday night. I gotta chuckle at that kid; he's a trip.  
  
Then there are the brothers, Warren and Bobby. I definitely know their names because they flat out told me the first afternoon they stopped in. Introduced themselves real polite, good kids, rich, Daddy probably takes good care of them. Both blonde and have that all-American look going for them. Sometimes they just come in and talk each other's ears off, or score a date, they even come in now and again and watch the game with a couple of other buddies. I can't hardly remember which is which, but the taller blonde gets the martini (yep, believe it or not, I serve them,) and the younger usually just settles for a Bud.  
  
Sometimes, the Southern star that I saw with Logan comes in and kicks back a bit. She's a real charmer, that one. I don't think she and Logan are an item, just real good friends, not that I'm one for gossip. Heh, and damned if she don't play hard to get. I've seen that Cajun friend of hers try and lay a move or two on her and she'll tell him where he can put it, sometimes downright mean. It only makes him come back twice as strong, though, and damned if she don't know it. She's usually wearin' some short shorts or low shirts, you know, something that'll make a man look, and we all look, but she's a real sweet girl. Of course, Southern Comforts for her.  
  
The only one that doesn't come in often is that Aurora woman. I know I'm saying it wrong but I can't for the life of me remember how to pronounce it. I never forget a face though, especially not one like that. Whew, talk about your beautiful. The only black woman I've ever seen with white hair but holy Christ she just takes your breath away. She's a real looker, like the rest of them, and like Dixie, she's not afraid of showing skin neither. I can only remember seeing her twice but I remember one time she wore a dress that left little to the imagination. She'd been alone, none of the others were here, and she just kinda went up to the jukebox and sort of swayed to the music. She must have had a million guys ask her to dance, and she said yes to some, no to some. I heard her talk and she had kind of like an accent, from Africa maybe. It was real nice, whatever it was. Pina Colada.  
  
Then there's the redhead, beautiful as they come and with a head of hair that makes a man beg for mercy. She's been in a couple of times, usually for lunch or a quick drink on a date. One time she came in around midnight, I was just about to close up but I decided to hold off for a while, and she just plopped into that bar seat Logan is sitting in and ordered a Whiskey Sour, banging her hand unceremoniously on the table and told me she didn't want to see the bottom of that glass. She drank one and a half rounds. But you had to smile because she was real adorable, sitting there and getting drunk for the first time in who knows how long. Unlike the southerner, this one dates on and off. I see her with a different guy every once in a while, but I guess they're just whatevers because I've never seen her with a man twice. That's too bad Dixie don't date much, pretty as that woman is. But come to think of it, she's got a kind of sad air around her, like she's recovering from a broken heart or something. It's just too bad.  
  
And of course, Mr. and Mrs. Scott Summers. I think her name is Wanda. They make a nice little couple; he pulls out chairs and opens doors, she cuddles up and giggles real sweet. I knew a girl like her in high school, they both had long, curly auburn hair and long, chestnut eyelashes that if batted just right, could make a man go weak. They've lived at the Xavier place for a couple of years now and they've been coming to my joint for a while- usually just sliding into the corner booth and eating a good meal but every blue moon they get crazy and park it at the bar. He's tall and you can just tell he's real smart in the head if you know what I mean. He wears these red glasses all the time and I don't know why but I think it has something to do with being a mutant. I wonder how he's holding up with all these gorgeous women moving in with him. It makes me chuckle. No way, him and Wanda have been together forever, since they were kids.  
  
Logan grunts his thanks and gets up to leave. He left a dollar tip out of the five. I pick it up and ring it in, then grab his bottles and toss them in the can. I whip my rag off my shoulder and resume wiping down my bar.  
  
Yeah, that Xavier crowd. It must be a trip living there.   
  
  
  
  
  
OKAY!!!!  
This is kinda NOT and AU. It's got the basic idea of the X-Men and such, but people are a tad different in background and professions. (Wanda is a Marvel character; she's not mine. The Scarlet Witch is her codename. If you don't know about her, find out!) I'm going to do a little twist on the original Marvel storylines, but everything will still be loosely based on the originals. I thought it was about time to do one. Know what inspired me? Someone called Remy 'Gambit' and I was like, "Whoa! Gambit! I haven't heard that in forever!" Hope you like! Tell me if you do! Hell, tell me if you don't! REVIEW!  
  
Oh and don't fret. Only this chapter will be in Harry's POV.  
  
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. It's all Marvels. 


	2. Long Division

**TWO MONTHS AGO**  
  
  
  
  
Rogue fingered the ivory keys tenderly. Her nimble digits traced over black, then white, then black, then white. The concert grand stood in all its glory in a bare spot just in front of the window where a glittering patch of sun fell across the floor in the day and a silver beam of moon at night.   
  
Papers with furious note-heads and stems scrawled between staves lay scattered across the top of the magnificent instrument, black and glossy with the afternoon sun. A series of notes were played over and over as Rogue tried to progress with her song. She wasn't avidly trying to make it in the music industry, but Caleb had said she had talent and he was very encouraging. So she sat, writing a small compilation of songs resurrected from deep in her blood and soul.   
  
Caleb assured her they were beautiful and suggested that when she finished, she should definitely get a professional to take a listen. Rogue was positive that her sudden flourish of wonderful ideas for music came from Caleb himself. A love song just hits deeper when the writer is actually in love. And Rogue was certainly in love with Caleb. They'd been in a steady, wonderful relationship for almost two years now and she grew fonder of him by the day. Any day now, he would pop the question. She could feel it.  
  
The object of her musings entered their New York apartment at the precise moment Rogue allowed herself to stop in her thinking and daydream of him. He flashed her a grin and knelt beside her on the piano bench, their hands grasping and resting in her lap. Caleb was tall, fairly built with a mop of thick, black complicated swirls and two chocolate brown eyes that brightened like the stars at the sight of her. He was Abercrombie material, but no one would ever tell him that. It wasn't the kind of thing he'd want to hear, being the sensitive, soulful artist he was. He'd most likely say that appearance is as relevant as hate. Whatever it was, Rogue still resisted the urge to jump him when he donned a tight turtleneck that traveled the length of his Michelangelo body.  
  
"Why'd you stop? It was sounding great!" He kissed her.   
  
She shrugged. "Ah was thinking of you." She said finally, grabbing his mouth in another kiss. They smiled against each other's lips and parted. "Anyway, why are you back so soon?" She slapped his arm playfully.   
  
He stood and entered their kitchen. "I forgot my keys," he called out. Soon the sound of jingling metal accompanied his way back out the front door. Rogue stopped in her piano dallying and counted precisely three seconds before he returned back through the door, stalking toward where she sat. She stood immediately and turned to receive him, opening her arms wide and embracing him. They kissed with wanton passion for nearly a full minute.   
  
"We are pathetic," Rogue said close to his face.   
  
He nodded. "I know. I'll be back." He slipped from her arms and closed the front door behind him on his second way out. Rogue shook her head and sat back down.  
  
Her fingertips waltzed across the keys and began composing a blissful serenade, swallowing the room in a deep blue tone as she pounded life through each key. She tipped her head back and let the music pour from her heart.  
  
Three gunshots rang outside.  
  
Rogue jumped, startled and shaken from her reverie. Horror-stricken, she bolted to the window that looked out over the city sidewalk. A small circle of curious, aghast onlookers gathered around a single center. Rogue's heart thrashed against her. She didn't even hear the sirens coming from down the street, but when the ambulance dissolved the crowd, Rogue sank against her windowsill in a freakish blow of anguish. She screamed and crumpled onto the floor.  
  
Caleb's body lied facedown on the sidewalk, blood seeping from his still form.   
  
  
  
**  
  
"And so you see, boys. I saw the both of you, young, intelligent, charismatic, wealthy, and of course, mutants." Xavier smiled genially. "I understand that soon you will be inheriting your father's business; I am offering you a chance to perfect the use of your powers in a safe, friendly lifestyle with other mutants. What do you say?"  
  
"We say yes," Warren answered immediately. His brother Bobby nodded enthusiastically beside him. Xavier's eyebrows raised in mild surprise at their swift and certain affirmative reaction.  
  
"You're sure? This is, undoubtedly, a life-changing prospect for the both of you."  
  
"We're sure," Bobby blushed at his eager intervention. "After you wrote us, we researched your cause a bit more before we came today and were very pleased with what we learned. We're aware that Warren and I will be part of your first recruit in a school dedicated wholly to the progress of human-mutant relations, and the... team you plan on assembling- in complete confidentiality of course."  
  
Warren nodded. "Our father and us both believe this is a good idea for us. He feels it will give us the direction we need to run his business properly." Warren Worthington III hoisted his leg atop his other and folded his hands professionally on his knee. "He conveys his apologies for not being able to join us today, but unfortunately he won't return from his conference in Toronto for about another two weeks."  
  
Xavier held his hand up. "No need to apologize. I spoke with him on the phone and he explained the situation in its entirety to me. I'm glad you've decided to join my school's first recruitment."  
  
The two brothers rose from their chairs. "Then will see you in about a week?"  
  
"A week, alright." Xavier wheeled from under his desk to shake hands with the boys.   
  
  
"I'm pretty excited about all this." Bobby commented, piling into the passenger seat of Warren's Ferrari.   
  
"Yeah?" The older of the two said, throwing him a sideways glance. "Me, too."  
  
Bobby shrugged. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, it'll be a nice break from being the silver spoon-fed brats we are."  
  
"Speak for yourself." Warren revved the engine, smiling.  
  
"Oh give me a break." Bobby flipped a hand out of the window and the billionaire brothers drove off, wind whipping both boys' blonde locks in their eyes.  
  
**  
  
Scott Summers roamed the outskirts of the store like a thief circling the treasure, contemplating the best way to get in, get what he needed, and get out. Finally, he plunged in amidst the silk bras and cotton panties and lace and velvet and satin and oh my God I've got to get out of here... He sped for the door but was intercepted by a body that looked like it belonged on one of the platforms displaying the exaggerated mannequins.   
  
"Can I help you, sir?" She asked through a plastered smile, wringing her hands. She's new, Scott decided. Good, new was good. Maybe they could help each other.  
  
"I'm, uh, looking for something for my wife." He glanced at his surroundings timidly as if one of the baby doll ties would undo and strangle him.   
  
The woman nodded. "Um, okay, how... big is she?"  
  
"What?" Scott's head whipped to the saleswoman and noticed her small hands gesturing, somewhat nervously, toward her generous breasts. "Oh, uh, gosh. Not... not that big, I guess."  
  
She smiled, the entire situation suddenly striking her as funny. 'Keep it together, Jean. You were hired for this. You can do it.' Scott noticed the saleswoman's shoulders relax and her chin tilt up as if a swell of confidence had ballooned inside of her, consequently shriveling Scott's to a meager portion.   
  
"Okay," she continued, grabbing a passing woman by the wrist and halting her pursuits. "C'mere Penny." She looked to Scott. "About this size, you think?"  
  
Scott's eyes fluttered over the woman modestly. "Yeah, that's about right."  
  
Jean nodded. "Alright. Follow me. Thanks Pen."   
  
Scott watched 'Pen' nod and disappear in the sea of lingerie then followed his own associate into another section of the store.   
  
She led him into the depths of the underwear world and turned to face him, hands planted on her full hips. "See something you like?"  
  
'If I weren't married, yeah.' He shot the thought from his head and looked around, mustering up the courage to fumble through a few racks of the scant clothing with his big fingers. "I don't know. My wife's not really into this kind of stuff." Scott waved a hand at a wall from which a slick leather ensemble hung, whip accessories included.   
  
The woman giggled. "No, I wouldn't imagine." What's that supposed to mean? "Does your wife wear any colored undergarments, or usually just white?"  
  
Scott shifted, recalling Wanda's bras and panties. "White..." Is that bad, he added silently.  
  
The woman's eyes became wide. "No! It's not bad. It just means she'd probably be more comfortable in something simple yet adorable... like this." She plucked a white silk nightie that met to mid-thigh and had little to cover up top. But Scott didn't even see it.  
  
"Did I say that out loud?"  
  
"What?" She said, turning from the nightgown.  
  
"I didn't say, 'Is that bad,' out loud," Scott stated firmly this time. His eyes grew. "Are you-?"  
  
She slammed the garment back onto the rack and closed the gap between them. "Listen sir. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to, please. I... I just started here and I haven't gotten into the swing of things yet." She clasped her hands together. "Please don't-"  
  
He held his hands up. "Hey, don't worry about it!" He took a cursory glance around them and bowed his head nearer to her. "I'm a mutant, too." He tapped his rose-red sunglasses and her jaw gaped.   
  
"You are!" He nodded. "Oh my God! You had me scared to death for a second!" She hit him on the shoulder and he laughed.  
  
"Hey! I'm sorry, it just took me by surprise that's all. So, a telepath, huh?" He relaxed, feeling slightly more at home with a fellow mutant.  
  
She nodded glumly. "Don't get me wrong, I don't go prying into people's heads or anything. In fact, I lock myself up in my own head- and I think your wife would love this piece, sir." They waited while a middle-aged woman passed them. "I lock myself up in my head so I don't hear anything. Most of the time it's like I don't even have the power. I don't get any of the perks of telepathy, but at least I don't get any of the crappy stuff either. Your thought just beamed so loudly."  
  
"I'm sorry. I live with a telepath so I'm usually good about that. I must have just slipped."  
  
"It's okay. You're nothing compared to some." She flipped a scarlet wave behind her back. Redhead, Scott noticed idly. It was no secret he preferred redheads, his wife serving as evidence. What man didn't when you came right down to it? As far as Scott was concerned, you weren't a red-blooded man unless you've fantasized at least once about a woman with red above and, of course, the kinky patch below. "You said you live with a telepath?" She asked.  
  
Scott picked up the nightie she'd presented to him and headed for the cash register. He fished in his jackets inside coat pocket and retrieved a small white rectangle of paper. "Call this number. He can get those voices cleared up for you."  
  
She looked down at the card. Charles Xavier. She met Scott's eyes and they held each other's gaze for a split-second. "Jean." She said simply.  
  
"Scott," he replied. Fucked, he added, safe behind mental walls.   
  
**  
  
"Remy, this is Charles Xavier. I was wondering if you'd thought any more about my offer-" BEEP.   
  
"Delete Message." The answering machine stated.  
  
Remy decided it was time to delete it after listening to it about eighty times. He didn't want it to still be there when Francesca came back from Paris. He was house sitting for his old friend/casual lover's New York penthouse for the last four months while she no doubt got fucked every which way under the cloak of a drunk, sinful, cocaine-induced Parisian night. "I'm having a blast," she wrote on her last postcard. Translation: I'm condemning myself to hell with about three different men a night.   
  
Remy settled into her couch. There was no saving Francesca. There was no saving him. Damn, maybe this place Xavier was offering wouldn't be half bad. Probably clean his nose out a little. He was getting sick of this fast-paced, New York minute shit. He needed a break. What he wouldn't give for one lazy afternoon on the banks of a Louisiana river. No. He would never go back there. Not ever.  
  
Westchester was a nice enough place. He lit a cigarette then extinguished it, disgusted. He reached for her portable next to her answering machine and pressed talk, only to press it again. He pressed the phone to his mouth and tumbled the idea around in his head.   
  
He looked around Fran's house at her Persian rugs and original Victorian period paintings. Story of his life: beautiful and expensive, but so damned superficial and ultimately worthless.   
  
He dialed the number that he'd memorized from the answering machine. Why not? Where the hell else did he have to go after Fran came back? After all, it was a meal and a bed.  
  
**  
  
Ororo slid the sleek, sequenced dress from her slim, toned body. She replaced it with a breezy orange one that clung tight to her plump breasts and flared out from there to just past her knees.  
  
"Oh 'Ro, I'm going to miss you so much, girl." Marilyn hugged the African goddess from behind. The two women held the position for a moment, staring at themselves in the full-length mirror.  
  
"Do not be sad, Mary. I have confidence that we will meet again. Someday."  
  
Marilyn, Ororo's current roommate and current best friend, groaned and fell back on her Queen waterbed. "Don't feed me promises. I get enough of that from Davy."  
  
Ororo turned, sighing. "My time here is over. It is time I move on."  
  
"Why!" Marilyn shot from her bed. "Why, Ororo? Africa, L.A., Vegas, why run anymore? Stay! Stay here with me! We'll go out every weekend and party until we drop, find wonderful, beautiful, rich men, come stumbling in around four. We have great careers modeling, here; girl, you are going somewhere! Why give it all up now?"  
  
Ororo inhaled deeply. She'd heard these arguments before, every time she left. It should have flattered her that there was always someone somewhere that begged her to stay, but instead it broke her heart into pieces. She couldn't stay... anywhere. She had to continue moving ahead, forward, on. Like the wind.  
  
She touched the cheek of the young girl before her- just one of the many in her trail of broken hearts. Today a model in New York, yesterday a nightclub singer in L.A. What was tomorrow? She didn't know, and that was precisely what Ororo Munroe loved about her life.   
  
She hugged Marylin a final time, silenced her tears as best she could, and boarded the next bus to Westchester. Xavier had been forced to get a hold of her telepathically, as she and Marilyn were never at the apartment and she believed cell phones were ridiculous. He offered her a place in his first recruitment and she agreed, but made no promises on how long she dwelled with him at his mansion. He agreed. "Just come and see how you like it."  
  
She owed him from a previous favor. He knew that, but didn't use it against her or as a bargaining chip to come. Which is probably the reason she agreed to do it. He simply said, " It will, perhaps, bring some closure, Ororo." And closure she could very well do with. Because sometimes, not often, but sometimes, she still felt dirty, like three-inch caked on grime dirty, when a man spilled his seed inside of her, even if he worshipped the ground she walked on. And Lord knew there were several of those.   
  
**  
  
Logan stopped at a red light. He exhaled a coiling tail of cigar smoke and replayed last week's events in his head. The department brought in this snot-nosed kid that took three minutes before he was singing like a canary. He's in with the mafia- a nobody, really, just someone to finish off the dirty work. Young and misled, they're a dime a dozen. Logan asks who killed Rogue's beau. The kid says it was "The Heartbreaker."   
  
"Who the fuck is Heartbreaker?"  
  
"He's this guy," gulp. "I ain't never met him. They say he's related to Bugsy Malone." His eyes roaming the closed off room frantically, suddenly noticing there's no windows. Logan knew Bugsy. Everyone with a badge knew Bugsy Malone. "They just said that Heartbreaker killed Caleb."  
  
"They say why?"  
  
"Naw, they didn't say that. Sometimes the guys talk about him, though- Heartbreaker. They say he's the meanest one out there. No mercy, you know?" He pauses. "But I ain't never met him." He repeats, and Logan knows it's true. The mafia isn't stupid. They would never let a squealer like this punk meet someone as important as this Heartbreaker obviously is.  
  
Logan sent the kid to overnight restraint. He was dead the next morning. It peeved Logan that someone managed to get through his division's securities and shoot up a key witness.   
  
"Fuck," Logan mumbled, a fresh batch of irritation hatching inside of him as he replayed the night and its disappointing end. The light turned green.  
  
He pulled up in front of the library. Rogue was sitting on a bench under a huge white umbrella, the fat yellow sun beating down on her. She squinted her eyes and noticed him.  
  
"Hey," she said shortly, tossing her olive green suitcase in the back seat next to his oversized duffel bag and climbing into the passenger seat. He grunted a hello. "Tell me something, Logan." She inquired of her partner.  
  
He recounted last week's entire happenings and she listened attentively, sipping her Starbucks latte. "So what's this got to do with Xavier's mansion? Ah mean, why did Ah pack my universe into my suitcase so we could run off and live in a school for mutants?"  
  
He shook his head and made a sharp left. "Not a school, a cooperative living environment... to the public. I looked into it a little more and talked with Charles Xavier himself. It's actually more like a superhero team. Think of it as being back to our old crime-fighting days just a bit more advanced." Logan took Rogue's drink and gulped down the last large swallows before adding quietly, "And Caleb's killer is there."  
  
"The Heartbreaker is going to be there? How do you know that?"  
  
"I did some old-fashioned investigating around the slums of New York, saw what I could see on this Heartbreaker fellow. Last anyone had heard he was going to be laying low for a while at Xavier's place. So badda-bing, badda-boom I call Xavier and we're in. Thankfully we're mutants so it wasn't a problem getting past him. Which is good, 'cause the guys a telepath."  
  
"Yikes, that's going to be a little hard to work around." Rogue said.  
  
"Nah. The guy's a real ethics buff. He told me specifically that he didn't go rummaging through people's heads without their permission."  
  
"That's good." A beat. "Ah'm real sorry Ah couldn't be there to help you do all this, Logan. Ah just haven't been in the mood to do much of anything, lately."  
  
"Hey, don't even think about it." He patted her thigh reassuringly. It wasn't romantic, or even suggestive, just protective, like the older brother he'd come to be to her over the last eight years. A year ago, Rogue made the announcement that she'd fallen in love and that she couldn't go on in the business anymore. It would simply be impossible to keep the secret government division under wraps and still manage a relationship with Caleb. She chose Caleb. Everyone understood, but it was hard just the same. Logan had lost a great partner.   
  
But when he heard Caleb had been shot to death, he was all over it in a matter of seconds. He'd been expecting Rogue's phone call and when it came, the two met up and were back to being partners in the ninth division of the Secret Service: a.k.a. the Opal Meridian. Few knew the ninth division even existed.  
  
"It's good to see you back, Rogue." He said.  
  
"Yeah, whatevah." She shifted in her seat. "Ah just want to find this bastard and put a bullet in his head."  
  
Logan knew how Rogue felt right now and he knew she appreciated his words, even if she deflected them like annoyances. If she took them to heart, she would shatter under the emotion. And Logan knew Rogue. She would never crumble like that. One thing he always respected about his former partner: they would take her kicking and screaming.  
  
**  
  
Xavier had just finished dotting the 'i' in his name on a document when Scott and Wanda knocked on his office door.  
  
"Professor." Scott poked his head in, followed by Wanda. Xavier ushered them inside and they stood by the door, his arm around her slim waist.   
  
"Professor, they're all here," Wanda announced.  
  
"Alright, thank you. I'll be there in a moment." They smiled and retreated down the hallway.  
  
Xavier had even thought of a name for the team he was to build with these promising young mutants.  
  
Xavier wheeled out of his office and to his parlor where his new recruits awaited. Scott, Wanda, Remy, Jean, Ororo, Logan, Rogue, Warren, and Bobby- his first generation of X-Men.  
  
  
  
  
  
NOTES  
This probably should have been the first chapter and the other one be second, but something told me to do it this way... the voices in my head, maybe; I don't know. Anyways, the next chapter will take place about a month later, right around when chapter one is taking place, and it'll kind of go into who loves who, and who's noticing who, and who IS who, and who knows what, and who DID what, and... um, yeah.  
  
Hope you like. REVIEW if you do; REVIEW if you don't. 


	3. The Perfect Prince

*BACK TO PRESENT TIME*  
  
  
Remy flipped through channels half-heartedly, the remote control pointed in the basic direction of the Rec. Room's big screen television. He immediately sank back against the couch cushions to assume a flippant pose, his empathy having sensed an approaching intruder on his late night T.V. indulgence.   
  
A curvaceous silhouette blocked the flooding light from the hall between the doorway. Faintly amused, he noted her hands planted on her round hips, a perfect contrast, he decided, to her tiny waist. Remy could not deny the seemingly endless supply of drop-dead women that sauntered into his life after coming to this Xavier joint. Every single one of them had a body that could make a man beg, and probably best of all- as Remy was always one for variety- they came in assorted flavors: vanilla, strawberry, and this sexy lil brunette made chocolate. Remy knew his main reason for even accepting Charles' offer in the first place was to reform himself, but holy God if the Ragin' Cajun didn't love his sex. Best to take it one step at a time, he'd decided after seeing the school's fabulous selection.  
  
She stepped into the dark Rec. Room, the only source of light coming from the eerie white glow of the flashing television scenes, and crossed her arms.   
  
"What're you doing up so late, Cajun?" She tilted her head inquisitively to the side.   
  
He shrugged, his lips turning up into a devastating grin. "Kind of watching some T.V."  
  
"Kind of?" She circled the couch. Appearing casual, she glanced at her watch. She had precisely three minutes to get this pretty boy's ass out of there. Logan was always on time. Instinctively, she slipped into sweet Southern bell mode in hopes of persuading this fellow out of the room.  
  
"Yeah. Why don't you take a load off, chere?" He patted the vacant patch of couch beside him.   
  
"Chere," she repeated, scrunching her eyebrows and tucking her feet under her as she settled beside him, close enough to tempt but far enough to tease. "Isn't that French? Love?" Her eyes idly found their way to her watch again.  
  
He nodded, her action not going unnoticed. "Dat's right. Beautiful and smart." He flashed another smile and she only shook her head in response.  
  
"Is this the part where I fall..."  
  
"Desperately in love, yes." He finished for her. She doubled her chin and widened her pretty green eyes in mock shock. He recovered quickly but spoke his words slowly, fluidly. "But not yet, I don't think." He pinned her eyes with his own scorching ambers and spoke ever the more slowly. "No, not yet."   
  
An easy hush settled over the room like stardust. Unbeknownst to her, Rogue's blood rushed in a raging storm through her veins and to her ears. She was suddenly unaware which way was up. What the fuck was this boy playin' at? His voice rang languid again. "No; I don't think you're looking to fall hard and fast right now." She pursed her lips together. He was this close to crossing a dangerous line. Watch it playboy. "Why so..." the pause hung long and taunting, "hurt?"  
  
Rogue shot from the couch. Remy slapped himself mentally for toying with her limits. What could he say? He was born cocky and when he sensed the sensitiveness of the subject for her, he could hardly resist. He caught her wrist in one swift gesture.  
  
Rogue resisted the urge to pop his joint and instead glared down at the man she'd only spoken to maybe once or twice the entire two months she'd resided at Xavier's Mansion. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "It was out of line. Don't go." He rose. "I'll leave. I wouldn't want you to cancel whatever previous engagement you clearly have planned for this room." And then he was gone.  
  
Rogue contemplated following the arrogant bastard and opening his lip with her knuckles, but was halted in her pursuits by Logan's hulking form appearing in the door. She turned the television off.   
  
"He ain't even worth it, darlin'." He said, clearly assuming where her thoughts dwelled. Rogue huffed a shiny strand of hair from her face and smoothed it back with her hand, inhaling deeply in the process. Who did that swamp rat think he was, prying into her love life like that?  
  
"Ah know." She replaced Remy's spot and Logan sat beside her. "What have we got?"  
  
Logan lit a cigar and settled back, blowing a perfect 'o' into the open air above his head. "It could be any one of 'em." He said finally, and she nodded in agreement.  
  
"There are the brothers, what're their names?"   
  
"Warren..."  
  
"And Bobby," she said, suddenly remembering. "Confused rich kids get tangled in the mob all the time." Logan nodded and the partners continued to shoot ideas at each other. They were equally at a loss of leads by the time one a.m. rolled around. They decided to call it a night.  
  
**  
  
Scott woke with a start. His wife's warm body snuggled closer against him and he bowed to kiss her hair. She grumbled something he couldn't quite make out. He glanced at the blaring red numbers from the clock on his bed-stand: one-thirty. Deciding he needed a drink, he climbed from bed and tugged a pair of plaid pajama pants Wanda had given him one year for Christmas on. He stumbled through the dimly lit corridor and into the kitchen, flipping the switch and engulfing the room in a blaring yellow light. He downed a glass of water in seconds flat and was just refilling his cup when the kitchen French doors opened, sending forth a gust of cool air and a tall blonde man. Scott squinted, eventually recognizing him as Warren. "Hello," he managed a bit uncomfortably.  
  
Warren leaned back against the cool glass and sighed. "Hey, man." He said, a lazy smile at the tip of his mouth.   
  
Scott turned to regard him fully and assess the situation. He'd been smoking, judging by the smell of him, and probably drinking if the slightly slurred speech was any consolation. Scott chose to keep quiet despite the fact that alcohol was prohibited on school grounds. It was a rule Xavier was rather lenient with. Scott and Wanda even owned a few bottles of champagne for special occasions, so it wasn't a major deal, so long as it didn't become a habit.   
  
"Go for a walk?" He inquired innocently.  
  
Warren nodded slowly with half-lidded eyes. "Oh yeah. And I saw something..." His voice trailed off and he heaved to stand upright.   
  
Scott was interested. "Saw something? Saw what?"   
  
Warren shook his head. "Nothing, it was... Never mind." He paused and bore into Scott intensely before holding up his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright." He stifled a boyish giggle and threw a cursory glance behind him through the glass doors. "I was walking around, right, just getting a little buzz or whatever. I'm around the pool and I hear this splashing around. I'm like, 'what the hell?' So I head over, all ready to perform my first superhero ass-kicking, right, and what do I see?"  
  
Scott, slightly intrigued now by Warren's remarkable storytelling, asked a little breathlessly, "What?"   
  
Warren stopped, his shoulders sagging and suddenly feeling very guilty for exploiting the knowledge of what he just saw like it was a hot tabloid. From the midst of his liquor-fogged brain, his conscience came in to play. "Nothing, man. Don't worry about it. Let's just say I need to go take a cold shower."  
  
Scott slumped against the counter, thoroughly perplexed. "What? No way, what did you see?" A pause. "Come on, what?"  
  
Warren released a deep breath, the air escaping him with his better judgment. Oh well, he thought. He could always blame it on the alcohol the next morning. "She was in the water, man. Naked as Eve herself and fucking gorgeous as all hell, there she was." Warren smiled at the recent but brief memory. He'd seen her slipping through the crystal blue water and drank the sight in for only a moment before turning respectfully.   
  
"Wait a minute, who? Who was in the pool?" Scott asked.  
  
"Jean." Warren replied. "I'll tell you what," he whistled appreciatively and without another word, disappeared around the corner and up the stairs.   
  
Scott washed out his glass and set it in the drainer, his movements mechanical and his mind obviously absent. He fought to replace the incredibly erotic image of Jean Grey in the pool with his own stunning wife. He let his mind present an enticing reel of him catching his wife in the pool naked and making love to her in the cool, clear water. The thought of the woman currently occupying the pool kept forcing its way into his fantasy though, so he finally gave up and indulged in a fleeting second of daydream in which he plunged just once and hard into the telepath, shaking the thought right when she would gasp under his thrust.  
  
He glowered at the French doors, daring them to open and let him onto the pool grounds. They did not call his bluff, and so he escaped up the mansion stairs and climbed back into bed beside his sleeping beauty. He watched the steady rise and fall of her breasts and the small, adorable pout her red lips made when she dreamed, no doubt of him. He didn't think that because he was narcissistic, it was just a mutual fact: they only dreamed of each other; that was all they *had* to dream about.   
  
Already slightly aroused from the incident downstairs, Scott felt himself becoming excited at the sight of his sleeping wife, clad in a tight purple tank top and white cotton undies, her body silhouetted marvelously by the thin sheet draping across her beautiful body. Before he knew it, a hand had slipped under her shirt and was fondling a plump breast until it puckered under his sensual fingers. Slowly, she woke and smiled up at him. She brought a hand behind his head and pulled him to her, engaging them in a slow kiss.   
  
Idly, he wondered if the pool was still harboring the sinful body of a sexy telekinetic, her skin wet with pool water.   
  
**  
  
Ororo, Warren, and Remy sat at a small round table positioned in the center of a large patch of the mansion's green estate after the morning's Danger Room session. A late summer wind sent individual gold and red leaves scurrying under hulking oaks and bitterly weeping willows.   
  
Wanda appeared with a tray holding three tall glasses. "I thought we might be thirsty so I brought us some ice tea."  
  
"Thank you," Ororo said coolly and retrieved a glass from the platter, sipping it slowly as a random bundle of leaves swirled at her bare feet and eddied in a blur of russet and brown behind her. Warren followed suit. Remy accepted his glass with a smile but didn't drink.  
  
"It's lovely here," Ororo said, leaning back into the intricate designs of her iron garden chair. "I'll bet it's simply breath-taking in the spring."  
  
Wanda inhaled slowly. "Oh, it is. There's so many roses- yellow, red, pink; you'll be sick of them."  
  
Ororo raised a thin, delicate eyebrow over her glass. Remy alone noticed the incredulous look on her face.   
  
"Assuming we're here in de spring." He voiced his assumptions.   
  
Ororo caught his eyes. "And just where do you plan on running off to, Mr. LeBeau?"  
  
Remy shrugged. "I just never plan dat far ahead into de future. I mean, that's almost a whole year." He paused. "And I'm willing to bet you don't either, eh?"  
  
Warren cleared his throat. "So how long have you lived here, Wanda?"  
  
"Oh, about three years now. My father is good friends with Charles, so when I was sixteen and my mutation manifested, he knew exactly where to bring me."  
  
"What about Shades?" Remy asked, swirling his untouched drink in his hand.  
  
She smiled weakly. "Scott already lived here on account of Xavier having adopted him when he was twelve." Her company performed a collective nod of understanding. "And the rest, as they say..." She trailed off, instead swallowing from her own glass of ice tea.   
  
A quick wind whipped by them and Wanda hugged her small frame, suddenly wishing she were wearing something warmer than her short, sleeveless, pastel summer dress to shield her from the unseasonably cool weather. "Oooh," she cooed, "It's chilly. I'm going to go inside and grab my sweater."  
  
"Don't bother," Ororo said, the sun peeking from a cloud as she spoke. Instantly, a pale, orange glow fell across the estate and the wind subsided to a pacifying breeze. Wanda's shoulders immediately relaxed and her wide dark eyes shone with admiration.   
  
"Wow." She gasped. "Hey, that's really neat."  
  
Remy nearly scoffed at the woman. Bright-eyed kids were a lot of fun. "Yeah, that is pretty impressive, Stormy."   
  
Ororo's teeth clenched under the perfect outline of her firm jaw. "Thank you, Gambit. And I do believe I've asked you not to refer to me as Stormy. Storm will suffice, thank you." She said simply, but could not smother the smile curling at her lips in response to his own incorrigible grin.  
  
"So where you from?" Remy asked. "Your accent- it sounds..."  
  
"African." Warren interrupted. Remy turned his face to regard him. So, he finally decides to speak. "Nigerian, even, if I'm not mistaken."  
  
Storm nodded. "That's right. You ever been?"  
  
He nodded and recounted a time he and his brother visited the plains for a safari. "It's truly beautiful there."  
  
Wanda sat back in her chair, trying to imagine anywhere outside of New York or her sheltered, Ivy League life.   
  
"So what brings you here?" Remy pried, reaching into his coat.  
  
"To Westchester?" She threw back, her voice a liquid blue caressing the still summer day.  
  
"To America."  
  
She straightened and he took in her tense pose with mild intrigue. "I don't know if that's any of your business."  
  
"I thought you might say that." A deck of cards appeared from Remy's pockets. "Tell you what," he fanned the deck and held it out to Wanda, who suddenly became interested. "If I can guess this pretty little lady's card, you tell me why you left Africa. Deal?" Before an answer was given, he gestured for Scott's wife to pick a card. She tentatively pulled one form the direct center. Ororo rolled her eyes and Warren swallowed some more of his ice tea, trying hard to look indifferent.   
  
Wanda held the card to her chest after glancing at it and looked to Remy expectantly. Ororo placed her palms on the table. "My father had just promised me to a man that I had only met once in my lifetime. I was not fond of the idea of marrying a man simply because he paid the highest bride price." Remy's interest stirred. "I was angry and vengeful against my father, so on the eve of my wedding, I found Kain by the lazy Ello stream- he was prince of my village, young, handsome, and at the wrong place at the wrong time. Contemptuous toward my father for selling my body to another man, I seduced the youthful prince and gave myself to him on the grassy shore. I knew that no man would pay for me now that I was not pure." Ororo swallowed a gulp of her tea. "But of course, it backfired. The boy fell in love with me, naïve fool, and begged me to stay with him. He said we could run away or some such nonsense, but I refused. I did not love him; I'd merely used him for my own selfish purposes. That night, before my father even received the chance to discover my sin, I ran. And just ran, and ran, and now I'm here."  
  
The three others were silent; birds cawed behind them and the wind commenced to whip their hair about. Ororo stood. "Queen of Spades," she said, and walked away. Wanda, breathless, bowed to look at the card between her trembling fingers, a sad-eyed beauty staring up at her with a looming spade above her heavy crowned head.  
  
Remy's eyebrows raised and he chuckled humorlessly. Wanda stumbled to her feet and mumbled something about washing out the glasses and carried the platter of ice tea back into the house, an embarrassed flush creeping across her high, sweet cheekbones.   
  
Warren peered after Ororo before rising and trotting after her. "Storm, Ororo wait!" He called. She slowed and turned to regard him as he fell into step beside her.  
  
"Yes," she said, smiling with her sapphire deep eyes.   
  
"Are you okay? I mean do you need anything?" He could have kicked himself for his suave wit, or lack thereof.   
  
She devoured the wealthy man with her heart-stoppingly beautiful eyes and slowly brought her hand to cup his cheek.   
  
"What could you do?" She said softly and smiled. "It's alright." She turned and walked off toward the direction of the dusky forest. Warren tore his eyes from her and turned to start in the direction of the mansion.   
  
Remy, still sitting but strangely going unnoticed, watched with dark red eyes. Ororo wasn't telling the whole entire truth. He didn't care terribly, though. Everyone was entitled to their fair share of secrets. But hers interested him for some reason, as if it connected to his own dark past. He intended to find out what it was, in the subtlest manner possible of course.  
  
**  
  
A smack accompanied the cue ramming into the cherry red ball and then sinking into a corner pocket. He rose from his hunched position over the billiard table and fetched his whiskey glass from the mini bar behind him. A light blared from above the pool table with various colored balls scattered across the green felt top.   
  
"Nice shot," Jean said, sauntering into the room in a yellow little number that Logan decided belonged in a forties detective movie. It was cute, in a curvy, showy kind of way.  
  
"You're home late, missy." He took another shot: 12 ball, side pocket.  
  
She shrugged and stepped behind the bar to fix herself a drink. "Oh, I don't know if midnight is exactly late. I doubt you ever come home before dawn peeps open her pretty little eyes when you paint the town." They shared a short smile.  
  
"Are you drunk?" Nine ball, corner pocket.  
  
"Not really, just a little bit of a buzz, you know? Anyways, he was an egotistical jerk so I decided to feign headache and have him drop me off."  
  
"In that nice and tiny silver car of his, I see." Logan threw over his shoulder before bending over to shoot again.  
  
"Nice view," she smiled. He shot wordlessly before coming back up.   
  
"I know." He grounded the blue chalk against his cue tip. "You know how to play, darlin'?" What was he doing? Flirtin' on the job? Ah well. He always did love to live dangerously. Damn it.  
  
"Kind of," she replied, setting her martini down and crossing to where he stood.   
  
"Well let's see what you got," he taunted.  
  
She relieved him of his cue and held it in her own small hands while circling the table, eyes roaming the ball's positions decisively.   
  
"So tell me somethin' about yourself, gorgeous." He said, pulling another cue stick from the rack in the corner.   
  
Jean shook her head. "Nuh-uh-uh." She chastised. "Don't you know it's become an unwritten rule in this household that one must never reveal information concerning their past?"  
  
"Can't we break the rules... just this once," he added low and husky.   
  
She shifted the cue in her hand. "My daddy taught me how to shoot a long time ago. I used to be a pretty clean aim. Let's see if that's still true, hmm? Tell you what- I make it and you answer one of my questions. I miss, and you can ask me any question you want."  
  
Logan watched her line her cue up with the bald white ball and prepare aim. Her back arm wasn't stiff, her elbow was lagging, and her slow strokes were crooked each time. "It's a deal." He said.  
  
She shot, too hard, Logan noted, and the ball bounced off three out of the four sides but didn't sink into any of the six pockets. He snorted. "Beautiful."  
  
"Alright," she said.  
  
He scrunched his mouth in thought. "Hmm, let's see. Oh, I don't know if I have to even ask. I think I've already got you pretty much figured out, Ms. Grey."  
  
"Oh really?" She sipped her drink.  
  
"Yep. Let's see," she let his eyes roam across her body, just once, "You were no doubt born into a well-to-do household: Ma, yer old man, maybe even an older brother- a letter-jacket man." She nodded slowly.   
  
"Two actually: Frankie and Beau. Go on."  
  
"Straight A student," he continued. "Had a crush on your English teacher?"  
  
She shook her head. "Wrong, wrong, wrong. My English teacher was Sister Clare."  
  
"Ohhh! Even better. An all-American Catholic schoolgirl. You're killin' me, Red. But no crush on a teacher, huh? Damn." He winked.  
  
"I never said that. Maybe not a teacher, but definitely an older guy."  
  
Logan leaned against his pool stick. "Tell me about it."  
  
She leaned over the table again and looked up at him from across the billiard balls, her thick red waves falling down against her creamy cheeks. "Is that your question?"  
  
He nodded. "Yeah, that's it. Tell me about this older guy."  
  
She shot, and a vibrant blue ball rolled dangerously close to a pocket, but slowed considerably and finally came to a complete stop at the towering edge of a side pocket. Jean considered blowing it a nudge, just to drop it into the black hole.  
  
"Don't even think about it," Logan said, rising from his seat at the mini-bar.   
  
She grimaced, still hunched over the damned blue ball. "You don't have to, if you really don't want to," Logan said, realizing the magnitude of the subject, especially for a woman.   
  
She stood, smiling. "No, it's alright. A deal's a deal." She laid the cue down flat on the billiard table and fiddled half-heartedly with a ball. "He was my best friend's father."  
  
Logan nearly dropped the cigar he'd just lit from his mouth. "No."  
  
She nodded, a blush invading her cheeks and nose. "He was older, you know, thirty-eight maybe. But he was so handsome and he wasn't at all the kind of guy you'd think would do that. He was really sweet, and funny, just a nice guy. He wasn't gross or anything." Jean rolled the ball at her fingertips. "After I broke up with my boyfriend of two years, I spent the night at Nicollette's house to get over him with mint-chocolate-chip and Marilyn Monroe. That was her name: Nicollette."  
  
"W... Was he married?" Logan sputtered, incredulous.  
  
"Oh yeah, he was married. She was really pretty, too, but I don't think they were happy. They just kind of stuck together for Nikki. So anyways, Nikki and I had already fallen asleep when I woke up around two a.m. and went downstairs to get a drink. His room was downstairs and his wife was away for the weekend; she was a businesswoman for AT&T." Logan listened intently, watching as Jean spoke slowly and precisely, her eyes obtaining a faraway look as she recalled more and more. "I dropped the glass and he must have heard it because he came into the kitchen all hot and bothered that something was wrong. I apologized and moved to head back up when I noticed my foot was bleeding. I winced. He told me to follow him into his bathroom where he bandaged it up for me. I think that's when I just started crying. I felt like everything was going wrong at once and I really missed Perry."  
  
"That'd be the jerk that had just broken up with you." Logan inquired.  
  
"Right," Jean nodded once in affirmation. "And then, one thing lead to another, before I knew it, he was sliding his hand up my thighs and under my nightshirt and we were kissing, right there, me perched on his sink and his hands all over me at once. I don't remember it all too clearly, but his hands were just all over: undoing my ponytail, fumbling with my bra, tugging my panties, stroking me. After that, there's not much to say. He popped my cherry." Jean stopped, a wicked smile painting her generous peach lips. Logan was sufficiently enthralled.   
  
He straightened immediately. "I see."  
  
She laughed out loud. "I'll bet."  
  
"Any recent encounters between the sheets, you know, with men your own age?" He asked.  
  
"My turn to ask something. What do you do for a living?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You know," she smiled sweetly. "Your job occupation, what is it? And what's the deal with you and Rogue? Are you 'just friends,' long lost siblings," a taunting pause, "lovers?"  
  
"You'll have to shoot for it." He said shortly, jerking a finger toward the cue between her hands. "And my question is the same thing to you. You have to tell me a lil about the skeletons in your closet."  
  
Jean bent immediately and positioned her cue perfectly, jabbing it with one professional stroke and causing the eight ball to spin off at an eighty-degree angle and crash into two more balls hiding in the corner before all three went sinking into a side pocket with a satisfying clink, clink, clink.   
  
Logan nearly choked on his drink. "Fuck me!" He laughed, watching her chuck her cue stick onto the table and make her way out the door, knowing full well that Logan wasn't about to tell her anything, and she wasn't a hundred-percent sure she was prepared to discover his truth or past just yet. His mystique had kept her fascinated thus far; why ruin a good thing?   
  
"Oh and by the way," she stopped at the doorway. "That whole thing about my little seventeen-year-old hormone rush: a complete lie."  
  
He nodded, un-phased and smirking. "Can't say I'm surprised." They exchanged daring grins and she parted, leaving him to engage in a solitary game of nine-ball.   
  
**  
  
Rogue shifted through C.D.s, a long cigarette poised between her slim fingers and a tongue of smoke coiling up beside her in a tendril of hazy gray. The room she stood in currently had no definite purpose, but it was obviously for some "down time," when the others just got to be a little much and someone just needed to sit back and put their feet up. She could just picture this particular crevice of the mansion being Scott and Wanda's personal make-out room when they were kids, sneaking in to steal a few precious moments of all the desperate, clumsy passion a sixteen and seventeen year old could muster. Rogue had taken the liberty of lighting a few candles and scattering them in various corners of the large room, creating the surreal, peaceful glow she'd been hoping to accomplish.   
  
"Aw, you shouldn't have, Belle." Rogue clenched her eyes shut and tried to pretend that she hadn't heard the voice that cut through air like steel. It was ridiculous, she knew, his faintest whisper could be heard through a mass hysteria of screaming. He just possessed that effect, and damn if he didn't know it.   
  
Rogue truly wished he wasn't behind her, though, no doubt leaning casually against the door jam, arms crossed carelessly across his broad chest, trademark cocky grin plastered across his face just under his truly bewitching eyes. She couldn't stand his overwhelming arrogance, and what's worse, she didn't like the flip-flops her stomach did when he spoke in that low, perfect tone glazed in wine-red emotion.   
  
"Can I help you?" She forced through a tight smile.   
  
"I'm beyond help." She nearly jumped at the feel of his breath tickling her neck close from behind. He chuckled and she noticed he'd taken a few steps back. Smart guy. "Step aside," he placed a hand on her hipbone and nudged her a few feet to the right to gain himself access to the stereo. His touch burned an electrifying hole in her soft skin and she nearly bit her lip in repulsion, or anticipation, or raw want; she wasn't sure.   
  
"What're you doin'?" She asked brusquely, clutching her voluptuous hips in defiance. "You do know that if you plan on trying anything, mistah, with one switch of a thought Ah could have you lying on the ground convulsing in short spasms?"  
  
He slammed a C.D. into the player and pressed Play. Yes, he did know that. When he somehow managed to find himself in Xavier's office one day, and the bolted file cabinets somehow popped open when Remy accidentally knocked into them, and when Remy mistakenly scanned everyone's files, he happened to remember that this particular Southern angel had some sort of power that allowed her to absorb others memories, emotions, etc. as well as the ability to fly and, of course, the infamous super strength. She had it all.  
  
He brought his index finger to her full lips and pressed, her eyes becoming menacing for the briefest of moments before he pulled away. "Shhh, just creating a mood."  
  
"A mood?" She repeated incredulously, but responded to his arms encircling her tiny waist by snaking her hands behind his neck.   
  
"Yeah," his voice low and hypnotic again, "a mood." And they danced.  
  
She wasn't sure how they began moving or even how she'd ended up in his arms in the first place, but there they were, gliding across the hardwood floors with subtle twirls and two bodies pressing a bit closer to each other than innocent dancing required, and under their connecting touch, their blood raced hot and thick through their defenseless veins.   
  
"I just wanted to tell you, chere, dat I didn't mean to press any buttons or claw open any wounds last night. And I'm sorry if I did." He whirled her under his arm once to give her time to decide how she wanted to respond.  
  
When she pressed back against his chest she still didn't know what to say. "It's... alright. Don't worry about it." Weary of life, and with a strong support standing right before her, Rogue buried her head in his chest and inhaled deeply, savoring the fragrance of his natural musk and remnants of Eternity in her lungs until she had to exhale for air. His hands raking across her back, his fingertips leaving a trail of blue liquid flame up and down her spine, made her feel dizzy and nearly weak with... desire? No, she wasn't thinking correctly. Three months without Caleb had made her wild-eyed and her body depraved for touch. The fact that the man deciding to touch her now was in a word, beautiful, didn't help much.   
  
Remy didn't dare breathe. What the hell? He was certainly not prepared for this. Sure, she was gorgeous, and Lord knew he'd always had a weak spot for Southern belles, but the farthest he'd ever gotten in thinking about this sweet little creature was a sporadic wet dream and a second glance at her long, creamy limbs when she decided to don a short pair of shorts every once in a while. But now, crooning to the maudlin opera concerto and no witnesses but the candles engaged in their own reserved dances, he didn't know what to make of the brunette in his arms, complete with streak of snow-white running down the center. Adorable, he decided absently. When he wandered into the room with a half-hearted apology on his lips and less than pure thoughts running through his head, he had no idea things would get this far. How far, Remy? He thought. You're just dancing for Christ sakes. But the feel of his fingertips against the soft skin of her back, separated by nothing but the flimsy silk top she wore, sent a different kind of sparks cackling within him. Why is this one different? Why is SHE different? Get the hell out of here, Remy, before you get burned.   
  
But before he could pry himself from her she was taking cautious steps from him, smiling shyly and reddening an alluring shade of rose, he thought, in the face. "Ah'm gonna call it a night," she said quietly, and left. He watched her go, waiting until she was from sight to take a few pacing breaths and glance around the room, as if he expected to find the underlying mystery of that moment somewhere in the plush, butterscotch-colored cushions. The C.D. played on and he unconsciously swayed to the rhythm, trying to slow his heart from its heavy thumps against his breast.   
  
  
  
"Was that almost human emotion I saw back there?" Logan asked Rogue as they strolled aimlessly through the long, tall corridors.   
  
"How much did you see, exactly, Mr. Peeping Tom?"   
  
"Not much, actually. Just the very end, really, and before I even made a move to turn and mosy along on my business, you were already pushing him away and fleeing from the crime scene." He said.  
  
"Crime? Since when is dancing-"  
  
"Dancing isn't, but breaking a guy's heart sure as hell should be."  
  
Rogue stopped and slapped his arm. "Ugh. First of all, I doubt Remy has a clear conscience when it comes to breaking women's hearts. Ten bucks says that he's got a list of doe-eyed girls waiting up by the phone every night and a trail of irate father's looking for his blood. Second, there was nothing even slightly romantic back there, it was purely physical. He's attractive- I'm a woman, it added up at the time. And you know I would never betray Caleb's memory like that." She stopped and muttered. "It's too soon."  
  
**  
  
Wanda scraped at the cookie sheet with unbridled fervor, her spatula screeching across the metal like Wolverine's claws against the Danger Room walls. She cringed briefly and resumed her progress.   
  
She smiled at the feel of strong arms from behind her accompanied by a gentle but firm squeeze. She sucked in a breath and turned her head to half face him. "Hey stranger," she purred.  
  
Scott buried his face into the crook of her frail neck and inhaled her sweet scent while his hands explored her supple hips and flat abdomen. "Whatchya' doin'?"   
  
"I'm finishing up with some cookies." She grabbed one from the cooling plate and offered it up to his mouth, to which he plunged his teeth into. Chuckling softly, he released his hold on her to grasp the cookie and eat it properly.  
  
"Aww, dat's really heart-warming." Neither of the lovers had noticed Remy enter and make his way to the fridge. He leaned in and fished out a small carton of whole milk, bought specially for him- he being the only one that preferred whole- and tipped it to his lips and swallowed several gulps. He brought it back down and swiped the mustache with the back of his hand, spying the cookies. His dark eyes lit up.  
  
"Hey, chere. You make dose delectable little pieces of heaven?" He asked, turning toward Scott's wife who beamed with pride at the blatant flattery.  
  
Oh God, Scott thought. This should be interesting.   
  
He and Remy switched positions so Scott could dig through the refrigerator for his own carton of milk.  
  
"Yes I did. Would you like one?" She asked, offering the platter. Remy grinned and accepted one with a smile.   
  
"Why t'ank you, chere." He bit into the soft, chewy cookie, smiling as he chomped.   
  
Wanda shifted her weight nervously. Here it comes, Scott thought. His wife was getting into what she called subtle flirting mode. She thought she was faint and tactful, but every man knew when she was playing a little back-and-forth game. Scott mostly found it charming, but still pretended to be a little irritated so she would have to make it up to him later in their bed. Now, with this slick Cajun, it DID irritate him.  
  
"So," she began, playing with imaginary loose threads of her tight fitting apron. A little too tight, Scott suddenly decided. "What exactly does 'chere' mean?"  
  
Remy immediately sensed the delightful undercurrents her tone possessed and resolved to play along at once, purely for the benefit of that twitch in Scott's jaw and because this little girl would just be all too easy. Besides, after his little encounter with Ms. Scarlet O'Hara a little while ago, he needed to prove to himself that his uncanny ability to make the opposite sex swoon still resided prominently in him. "It's French. It means love." He said simply enough, but his voice gaining a certain quality he knew he controlled that made women grow a little bit weak. She blushed furiously and looked down quickly.  
  
"Oh."   
  
Scott clutched his glass of milk and swallowed the remaining contents. Remy continued, pleased with his results. "I don't believe it, you're blushing. Well aren't you a living doll?" He clasped his hands against the carton still in his hands. "Just a little doll." She giggled like a schoolgirl and Remy strolled from the kitchen, shoving his carton into Scott's chest. Scott snatched it.  
  
"Night!" Remy called behind him. He turned and bore into Wanda's glittering innocent eyes with his own devilish glare. "And a very good night to you, love." He annunciated the last word in English and nearly laughed out loud at Scott's firm jaw. Walking away, though, he was forced to give his field leader some points. Any man that could keep his cool under that kind of patent flirtation between another man and his wife, especially if that other man is as charming and suave and devastatingly handsome as himself, deserved a little credit.   
  
Just a little.  
  
**  
  
Scott patrolled the grounds dutifully. No nook or cranny went overlooked, not on his watch. He wasn't paranoid, just careful. He had a wife, and hopefully someday a family here, he wanted to be sure his home was as safe as possible.  
  
Then why are you avoiding the pool? A voice sneered behind his eyes.   
  
Scott gritted his teeth. Why was he? He knew why. Who knows what lurked in or around the pool? A fleet of Magneto's warriors- he could handle it. An army of F.O.H.- bring the bastards on. A tall redhead with magnificent blue-gray eyes... naked- gulp.   
  
He'd only seen her once in the Danger Room since last night's encounter resulting in Warren sharing a startling piece of knowledge with the twenty-nine year old X-Man. Did he have the courage to graze the pool grounds and make sure nothing was amiss, risking the chance of seeing her in all her fleshy glory. God, Summers, pull yourself together. It's not against the rules or anything- he knew, he checked- and it's certainly not against nature's rules to get aroused at a sight like that. But there was a difference from letting yourself be caught off-guard in a presence as such and finding yourself thinking about it a couple times that day when your mind wandered off during the Danger Room session, afternoon grocery distribution, or even, yes, when making love to your wonderful wife that morning.   
  
"Fuck it," Scott muttered and crept to the pool. He made as much noise as possible without being overly obvious, but when he arrived he realized it had been in vain. She'd taken that precise time to delve deep underwater and slip from one side of the pool to the other. He took the briefest of seconds to watch the water spill over her sleek, downy skin. Fortunately enough, he was able to control his reaction and not become aroused to a point of notice to anyone who should happen to do just that. But he would not give her the chance. Silently, he turned and retreated from whence he came.   
  
"Scott?" Her satin orange voice called from behind him after emerging from the water. He paused a second before turning, hoping she'd take the few seconds to become decent so he could remain faithful to his wedding vows, if even in mind and heart. He turned and caught just a hint of the gleaming bare flesh of her shapely thigh before her towel cloaked her completely from mid-thigh to her white, milky shoulders. "I thought I sensed you," she smiled, unbothered by the absurd humiliation of the entire situation.   
  
He coughed nervously. "Yeah, well, just patrolling, you know." He held up his flashlight as if it were his defense evidence.  
  
She nodded and positioned herself at the edge of the pool, her back to him and long legs swishing through the water. "Take a seat," she called over her shoulder.  
  
Don't even think about it, Scott. "Okay." He moved to a nearby deck chair and sat at the foot, careful to maintain the chair's balance as it supported his weight. "So..."  
  
"I'm sorry," she began, "if it's against the rules to, you know, skinny dip." She giggled and Scott managed his own nervous laugh.   
  
"Oh," he waved a hand as if to dismiss the situation entirely, "don't worry about it."   
  
She smiled brightly. "Yeah, I figured it couldn't be a very big deal. I mean it's not like this pool has never seen a naked woman."   
  
Scott stammered weakly, "Oh, well, I don't, well." Her eyes got big and Scott was suddenly enchanted by his little pool nymphet.   
  
"Someone HAS had sex in this pool, right?" Her voice was achingly nonchalant as far as Scott was concerned for dealing with such a taboo subject.  
  
"I... couldn't tell you, to be totally honest."  
  
"You mean to tell me that all these years you and Wanda have lived here, you've never... you know, in this pool?" She grabbed his arm in mock disbelief and Scott pleaded with God to make her let it go before he shattered into a trillion pieces.   
  
"Nope, not once." He smiled shyly and Jean's heart did a funny twist.   
  
This guy isn't half bad, she thought. Jean took that moment to examine his features a little more closely: a bronze tint to his skin, extremely well built, cute, in that soft-spoken yet confident sort of way, caramel colored hair and God only knew what colored eyes. Ooh, mysterious. She finally determined that he was indeed a very handsome man.  
  
Oh no! Stop it, Jean. This gentleman already has a lady. The thought piqued her now more than it ever had before, especially when his face melted into that adorable lopsided grin, or when he held his breath whenever Gambit flirted harmlessly with Wanda...  
  
"But don't worry," he continued. "It's not against the rules or anything."  
  
"I know but I feel bad. It's just that, gosh, I've tainted a virgin pool!"  
  
He guffawed uproariously and she swatted his arm. "Don't laugh! I feel horrible."  
  
"You're too much, kid." He said, chuckling now. It dawned on him that even from the very beginning, it hadn't always been purely physical. She did something to him, something that made his groin as well as his heart leap. Among other things, for instance, she was funny.  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure this is a virgin pool, anyway. Besides, with men like Remy living here it's sure to have seen some action."  
  
Scott's shoulders stiffened at the mention of the sniveling Cajun that had played coy with his wife. "What?" Jean implored, wringing her long crimson tresses of excess pool water.  
  
"Oh, nothing really." He snickered. "It's just Remy. He can be a trip, that guy."  
  
She faced the sky and half-laughed, half-sighed. "Yes indeed. He is certainly something else- a gorgeous flirt for one."  
  
"Flirt indeed," came Scott's mumbled reply.  
  
"Aw, been playing with Wanda?"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," Scott brushed off politely.   
  
Don't want to talk about Remy or don't want to talk about Wanda, Jean pondered silently. She shook her head slightly, banishing such selfish thoughts. She'd done some bad things in her life, but she could never shred a marriage in two. Jean burnt silence by splashing her legs around and smoothing the water droplets onto her thighs and calves with her hands. Soon deciding that wasn't the wisest course of action to take when trying to dissuade a man, she stopped shortly. Stealing a glance at Cyclops, she noticed he had not been paying her attention anyways, his face turned away and staring curiously into the black forest.   
  
Scott wanted to dive into the cold, crisp water and let the cool liquid submerge him and ice his boiling nerves. He looked away when she began running small hands up and down her toned limbs, her legs becoming slick and moist with each stroke. His tongue nearly tripled inside his mouth. This was too much. He needed to escape before the sight of her damp curls plastered against her neck possessed him and the heady perfume of her coconut skin overwhelmed him.   
  
Shooting from his deck chair, he staggered to the French doors leading into the kitchen. Jean jumped at his abrupt rising and unconsciously clutched the white towel tighter under her arms. "Good night!" She sputtered behind him and he threw a brusque wave good-bye behind him, mumbling something to the effect of "you too."  
  
What the hell? Jean sighed and leaned back on her hands. "Don't think about him," she told herself. "Just don't think."  
  
  
  
  
A/N  
Alrighty! Lovin' the long chapters? Me too! I just started typing and couldn't stop. AHH! I hope you wunnerful people dig this story as much as I am going to dig writing it. It's you typical, smutty soap opera theme, and oyu know the one rule with soaps: there are no rules.  
  
You wanna make my day? NO? REVIEW anyway! 


	4. Chess and Jealousy

GLOSS  
  
  
Bobby scribbled furiously onto the pad of paper with his black ink pen. Last week had been his brother Warren's turn to write their father and note their progress at the 'school,' which made this Tuesday his week. He didn't even know half of what he wrote: we're becoming rather good in tennis, Warren is literally soaring to new heights, and we're both learning more and more everyday in the business tactics field- good God, did this place even HAVE a tennis court?  
  
Bobby chuckled dryly at the thought and shook his head. Fuck it, he thought, and scrawled a quick "Love, Robert" on the bottom and stuffed it into an envelope. His tongue was peeking from his mouth to moisten the adhesive when he heard it: a slight muffled whimpering coming from a few doors down the hall from his own open mahogany giant. Standing, he tossed the envelope onto his desk and followed the smothered sobs.  
  
His tracking found him at Rogue's door. Bobby didn't know the woman well, but enough to stand a bit straighter in her presence and roll his sleeve up a tad to make sure his Rolex didn't go unnoticed. It was stupid, he knew; girls don't usually date a guy for his money, and if they did they're not worth the green anyway, but it couldn't hurt. But with Rogue it seemed completely foolish. She obviously had no interest whatsoever in his bank accounts, which he considered could be the reason he smiled a little more in her presence.   
  
But she didn't sound like she wanted to see anyone smiling at the moment. He heard her hiccupped cries from in her room and his face scrunched in sympathy as he walked through the hall and down the stairway.  
  
He soon returned with a silver platter in hand, a steaming cup of cocoa positioned in the center. What if she's hungry, he thought. Balancing the tray with a trembling hand, he fumbled into his pocket with the other and retrieved a small pack of Winter Fresh gum. Yeah, he thought, tossing it onto the tray beside the mug. Satisfied, he knocked twice and straightened. As her footsteps neared, he suddenly became overwhelmed with the sense that this was a very bad idea. Whipping his head left, then right in a desperate search for escape but finding none, he froze. "Who is it?" She choked out from behind the door. Bobby ran. He fled four feet, slapped his forehead, clutched the tray threatening to tip and crash to the ground, pivoted, and raced back to her door just in time to see her open it and smile. "Hi, Rogue," he forced out, breathless.  
  
"Hah, Bobby." Her brows were knitted in perplexity but her eyes were red and swollen just a tad. "Whatchya' got there, boy?"  
  
He bowed to stare at the tray as if it were his first time noticing it as well. "Oh, what? This? Oh, yeah, um, actually," he chuckled. "You see, the thing is, I was in my room, and I sorta heard you." His shoulders deflated, defeated. "I heard you crying and so... I made you cocoa." He picked up the pack of Winter Fresh. "And some gum. Well, I didn't MAKE the gum, but I got you gum." He added a bit helplessly.  
  
She leaned against the doorframe. After a few heavy, silent seconds, she laughed and stepped aside, widening the entrance. "Well if yah come bearin' gifts, by all means, come on in!" She said brightly, ushering him inside. He smiled, shuffling into the room and offering her drink.  
  
An awkward pause and then, "Is it good? I wasn't sure if you liked marshmallows or not so I just left them out... and ate them myself."  
  
She nodded over the brim, sipping slowly. "It's wondahful."  
  
Thanks," he grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's an old recipe- family secret, actually."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. My aunt's recipe; perhaps you've heard of her: Swiss Miss?"  
  
Rogue laughed, for real this time. She was relieved Bobby didn't ask her any questions. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to handle questions just yet. Except maybe one. "Want a backrub?"  
  
She met his eyes. "What?"  
  
"I'm not trying to be slick or anything, it's just that sometimes, the best medicine is touch, even from a sweet, innocent little massage." He held his hands up as if to prove their purity. "Believe me, once you've felt the magical touch of these babies, you'll die in ecstasy. I am a sensual god."   
  
Rogue rolled her eyes. "If you wanna." Did he want to? Ha!  
  
Bobby rubbed his hands in anticipation and she turned her back to him, hugging her knees and propping her feet on one of her several sequenced pillows. She gathered her long, brunette tendrils of brown cinnamon and splayed the collective bunch across the front of her shoulder and over her right breast. Bobby placed tentative fingers on the bare lily-white patch of the back of her neck. Slowly, though, he eased into his ministrations with a fluid grace all his own. Not exactly the touch of a god, she mused, but wonderful in its own right. She tilted her head and groaned softly.  
  
  
"That feels good," she moaned.  
  
"Well dis is friendly," Remy said from where he stood in the hallway just outside her open door. Rogue gasped, rearing her head to face him.   
  
"Remy!" She fought to keep her voice from rising. When had her heart started pounding like that?   
  
He flashed a wide grin that did not reach his eyes. "Can I join de party?"  
  
Bobby, still kneading Rogue's silken skin, replied casually, but not coolly. After all, there was no reason to be angry... yet. "Sure. Take a sit down, Cajun."  
  
Rogue's eyes fluttered closed for a split-second. What was the matter with her? What did she care if Remy saw her getting a backrub from Bobby? She didn't. Yeah. She didn't.  
  
Remy did not take Bobby up on his offer. "T'anks, but no t'anks. Just came by to see if de belle wanted... well, never mind. I see she's a li'l preoccupied at de moment." He winked at Rogue and smiled again at Bobby, this time making sure the blonde boy noticed the lack of genuineness in the act. Their eyes connected in an instantaneous, silent argument before both pairs lit up again and muttered polite good-byes to each other.  
  
"Alraght," Rogue called after him, unaware of the exchange between the two men. "Good-naght, Remy."  
  
Remy smiled one last time, pleasant this time for her sake, and spun on his heel, retreating from the sight of that boy groping his southern infatuation- whoa Remy, let's not get carried away. Mildly curious interest, yes, infatuation, well, let's just not got there. But saints in heaven, how could that girl be so naïve? No man just politely "offered" to give a backrub. I wonder which excuse he used. It better not have been one of mine. Sometimes the best remedy for pain is touch. Gawd, Remy only hoped she hadn't fallen for THAT one.  
  
**  
  
Jean hummed softly. The air was still, almost muggy, and she lay comfortable in a small rowboat she discovered on one of the far, hidden shores of the lake. Still tied close to the grassy banks, she climbed into it earlier that afternoon and settled into the boat as if it were the last place on earth she ever needed to be. The day was a hot, hazy gray, the sun only just peeking from behind an overcast, and Jean immediately grew tired under its heavy persuasion. Drowsy and heavy-lidded, she attempted to hum herself to sleep as her hands, draped over the sides, sipped in and out of the water as the boat rocked on the gentle waves.  
  
Sensing someone approaching, she forced her eyes opened and scanned her close vicinity. Concentrating a bit harder, she recognized Logan's mental pattern. He immerged from the green and brown woods in front of her, a half smile playing on his lips.  
  
"Hey you." She said, moving her arm to rest on her forehead.   
  
"Hey yourself," he said, bending to pluck a blade of grass and clench it between his teeth. He fought to notice the cream pale of her long legs against the pale yellow of her shorts, but not really. He didn't expect to find her out here, but here she was just the same, and he supposed he could go for some company at the moment. "So, what lies have you conjured up for me, lately? Any?"  
  
She smiled. "Ah yes, lies. No, I don't think I've given it much thought." She paused before adding. "Can't say I've given YOU much thought, to be totally truthful." Her tone was wry but Logan could tell she was playing at some sort of game in which she, no doubt, created the rules as she went along.  
  
He decided, for the moment, to play along. "Hmm, I see. Should I say that I'm hurt to hear that?"  
  
She shook her head. "You can say whatever you want."  
  
"You don't want me to say whatever I want."  
  
She cocked her head to the side. "No, I guess I don't. Besides, I thought you didn't GET hurt, remember?" He shrugged. "Or is that all true?" She stood, crossing to where he stood ankle deep and barefoot in the lake. "I'd imagine that healing ability must be... really something." She nearly purred. He scoffed.  
  
"Yeah it's something."  
  
Deciding to postpone the flirting games before things got out of hand in the middle of the woods, Jean suddenly grinned and her eyes glinted. "I see," her voice lacked the seductive quality she'd laced it with previously, and so Logan exhaled and slipped into friendly mode once more. "Well does this hurt?" She punched him in the chest, her small, balled fist ramming hard into but making zero impact on his broad, muscular upper body. He rolled his eyes. She feigned hurt.  
  
"Ugh! Don't make fun!" She laughed, smacking him on the shoulder. He laughed harder. Quieting, she leaned closer to him until they were inches apart. Her breath tickled his nose. "Look at it this way: at least you'll be able to easily recover from embarrassment, I mean, with that super healing factor and all." She added in a honey-awed voice.  
  
He glanced sideways before meeting her eyes again, his face etched with bewilderment. "Embarrassment from what?" He asked finally.   
  
He went soaring through the air and landed into the middle of the lake with a significant splash. "That." When he resurfaced, he could hear Jean's melodious giggle echoing through the forest. She was the only woman he'd probably ever known that giggled for Christ-sakes. She shrugged when he glared at her. "I thought since we were both displaying our powers..." He swam to the banks and she held out a hand to assist. "And no funny stuff, mister. I'm really not in the mood to get wet, alright?" He yanked her in beside him, dunking her once and then letting her up. She gasped in waist-deep water, her mascara running black rivers down her cheeks.  
  
"Who said I was?" He grinned wolfishly. They stood silent for a second, contemplating their next move. She splashed him once and stepped back onto dry land, wringing her long scarlet rope of soaking tresses.   
  
"That was refreshing," she mumbled while squeezing her green tank of excess water. With that, she disappeared into the woods.   
  
Still in the lake, Logan didn't watch her go. Instead, he reminded himself how fun his job was- he got to meet new and interesting people all the time. Yeah. Just fun.   
  
**  
Ororo splashed a yellow water-colored rose in the woman's hair. She added and added to her Venus with every solemn brushstroke: gray and violet eyes, long ink lashes, smooth, butterscotch skin. Candles flickered on the hardwood floor around her, permeating through the air and enveloping her attic room in a faint hint of vanilla and something Yankee called 'Wedding Day'. Rain tapped steadily on her sky light windows and she glanced up to marvel at the scattered raindrops splashing onto the glass before they burst in all their aqua blue glory.   
  
She simply had to hear the lullaby of nature's drizzle when she stood in front of her canvas. Obviously, the other members of the mansion did not mind, for no one had approached her and asked her to alter the weather back to its 'regular' course. Apparently no one had scheduled an afternoon walk or outdoor baseball game on this fine day. Good. Let her paint.  
  
She heard a car start outside and she cast a cursory glance out her window just in time to see a Ferrari's headlights flash on. Half caring, she meandered to the window, yellow in her hand and a paintbrush in the other. She watched Warren speed away. No doubt Warren- only he would own a car like that. And actually drive it somewhere as trivial as the nearby grocery store for a gallon of milk. That was kind of intriguing, in its own way. Could she grow to like that? Well, she didn't exactly HATE it, that's for sure. Nor did she hate the robin's egg blue his eyes became on brisk, summer evenings.  
  
**  
  
"Computer, clock in program hours for Gambit."  
  
"Gambit: one hour and twelve minutes partaking in program: Omega Orange." The computer read back to him. He nodded, wiping the perspiration from his top lip. A little over an hour- that would do for today. He finally buckled down and started putting in a few extra hours in the Danger Room everyday so Cyclops would stop breathing down his neck.   
  
He threw a towel around his neck and headed for the doors when the room shifted around him, robots lurking in the shadows and scurrying back and forth, their metal claws making a disturbingly real click-clack on the metal floors. He looked at the holograms and back at the doors. They opened to reveal his new favorite person in the mansion- Bobby Worthington.   
  
"Oh! Sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here." He said, his eyes getting big with surprise.  
  
Remy smirked. "No problem, homme. I t'ink dat's what de monitors up dere are for, dough." He jerked a slender finger at the monitor booth." You know, just to make sure you don't come bargin' in on anyone's territory."   
  
His deliberate choice of words didn't go unnoticed to Bobby, but he smiled nonetheless. "Yeah well, I didn't feel like trekking all the way up then down. I just figured that if I came knocking on someone's chamber door proper, I'd apologize and they'd forgive and forget." A pause. "And that was Poe if you were wondering."  
  
Remy's eyebrows shot up in understanding, deciding not to let Bobby know that he was entirely familiar with Poe's work. "Ah, I see. So are we gonna stand here and chat like a couple of old hens or are we gonna play?"  
  
Bobby shifted his weight to the other foot. "Play?"  
  
"Capture de flag." Remy said. When Bobby nodded his consent, Remy repeated his words, a bit louder this time for the computer to hear it and assemble the program.  
  
The sport was friendly at first, each shooting the other with mild blasts and getting in the occasional sucker-punch in the gut or point-kick in the chest. They continued like this for some time until Remy could bite his tongue no longer, when they were both sweating buckets and breathing haggardly.   
  
"So, what's de deal wit' you and Rogue? Are you madly in love wit' each ot'er?" He asked, managing a charged Joker at Bobby's right shoulder as the blonde circled him on an ice ramp.  
  
"What's it to ya'? Are YOU madly in love with each other?" He tumbled and ducked another of Remy's cards, this time coming back with a heavy spear of ice in the Cajun's right and left leg.  
  
Remy sucked in a breath through his teeth. Immediately, he charged three more cards from his deck and let the energy slip from his fingers to the Ace, King, and Queen. "Naw, not'ing like dat. I was just curious, homme." He hurled the cards at Bobby just before he reached Remy's blue flag, guarded by a semi-threatening robotic soldier. The impact sent bobby to his knees.  
  
"Jesus," he muttered, clutching his elbow and bicep. That one had hurt like a bitch. Remy tackled Bobby from behind, pinning him to the cold, steel ground. The simulation disappeared around them.   
  
"Neh-eh-eh. You can't have it; not before I've even had a chance." They held challenging stares for a second, both understanding the other before Remy added, "at getting your flag, I mean."  
  
"Yeah right," Bobby moaned, his chest tightening as Remy's knees gouged into his ribs. He could have asked Remy to move. He could have.  
  
Remy slammed into the far wall, a stake of ice pinning him. He broke the ice and charged back at Bobby. The two men wrestled on the floor, tangling in a massive heap of anger and jealousy, neither noticing Ororo until a lightening bolt sent a significant chunk of metal crashing down on them, their bodies separating and sprawled weak on the floor next to each other.  
  
"Ugh," Remy rubbed the back of his head and looked up into the goddess's menacing glare.   
  
Bobby had the decency to look sheepish under her cool blue gaze.   
  
"That could have quite possibly been the single most disgusting display of male ego I have ever been made witness to." And with that, plus a truly dismayed scoff, and she was gone.  
  
**  
  
"I'm really not a terrible person." Remy defended himself against Ororo as the two sat on a parlor couch later that evening, she pretending to skim a Vogue magazine. He sat facing her, his arm propped against the back of the couch, talking until he turned blue in the face trying to convince Ororo that he was really "not dat bad of a guy, once you get to know me."  
  
"Mmm," she acknowledged half-heartedly, causing Remy to grow even more desperate.   
  
"Really! Oh come on, why can't we be friends, eh? We're a lot alike, you and I." Remy said flippantly, taking this time to turn the television on and surf channels. He glanced at Ororo from the corner of his eye. She was indeed looking at him.  
  
"Oh are we?" She asked, smothering an amused smile. HA! Who did this kid think he was? He was a real card, that's for sure. "And what, pray tell, makes us so similar?"  
  
"Well, for starters, we're bot' natural born thie... osophical individuals." He winked. Her eyes grew at his implication.  
  
"That is NOT what you were going to say, Mr. LeBeau!"  
  
"Wasn't it? What was I going to say?" he asked innocently.  
  
"You were going to say thieves." She replied bluntly.  
  
He shrugged, "Perhaps. Why? Are you admitting to somet'ing?"   
  
"Well I know what I've done in the past, and it's obvious what YOU'VE done in the past-"  
  
"Why do you say dat?" He interrupted. "Why do you claim to know what I've done in de past?"  
  
She rolled her eyes, again flipping another page in the magazine still resting on her lap but long abandoned. "Come now. All thieves can spot a fellow thief a mile away. I had hoped you'd have the decency to keep our shared knowledge to yourself and not bring it up, but I had a feeling you would."  
  
"I just want to be friends." He grinned devilishly.   
  
"Well in that case," she said, "friends would probably give this back." She opened her palm and Remy snatched his money clip from it. She laughed out loud.   
  
"Yeah, yeah, very funny, Stormy." He shoved the gold clip back into his jean pocket. He never actually put any cash in it, but it was good to have. His only remaining possession from Louisiana; he kept it with him most of the time, "for de hell of it."  
  
"And if we're returning t'ings, I suppose dis is only right." He held up a delicate gold chain, the onyx charm dangling on its end. She retrieved it and slapped his leg.  
  
"Bastard," she said, clasping it back around her neck.   
  
From his jean pocket and around her neck- no doubt about it, these two were professionals.  
  
They regarded each other seriously for a moment, out of respect or who knows what. Finally he joked wryly, "We should start a club, neh?"   
  
She nodded, smiling absently. Suddenly, she couldn't decide if she LIKED Remy or not. He was nice, a bit cocky, but nice... at first. Now, he was still nice, but he reminded her of things she wanted to put behind her- more than just stealing.   
  
As if catching her thoughts direction, he said, "Don't sweat it 'Ro. It's just stealing, and it's over." He shrugged casually.   
  
"Yes, I know. And I've done worse." She said quietly, wrapping the moment in a brief, black mood. Remy's smile wavered slightly.   
  
"Me, too." He added just as quiet, and a silence commenced. It wasn't an awkward silence, simply one of understanding, mutual respect, as it was. Both were curious about the other's prowling past, but were unwilling to admit their own side of the looking glass. Fine with them; soon enough they would know. It would just take time. And now was now.  
  
Remy swallowed pesky thoughts of Rogue and her... thing with Bobby, whatever the hell it was, and Ororo shoved thoughts of Warren and that undeniable connection they'd had to the back of her mind. They were both people that lived for the current, and currently, they were with each other.  
  
**  
  
Scott settled into the couch with his beer. He didn't drink beer often, it wasn't really his thing, but once in a blue moon, he tapped the Rockies so to speak. He only did it when he was nervous- he remembered drinking almost a whole case the night before asking Wanda to marry him, or upset- once when he and Wanda gotten into a fight because she was positive she heard him mumble that he thought the dress she was wearing made her look thirty pounds heavier, or anxious- Wanda's parents were due for a visit in a little less than a week. Scott tipped his silver can back. Yippee.  
  
He heard someone walk up behind him and stop. He just knew it was Jean. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew.   
  
"Why up so late, Summers?" She asked, nudging the back of his head a little with her hand. Scott almost wished she wouldn't move it. She did.  
  
He shrugged, glancing behind him. "I'm not sure, really. Just didn't feel like sleeping."  
  
"Oh I doubt that," she said, coming around so he could see her. "Few come into a library to try and stay awake." She looked at the shelves of books towering around her a little self-consciously.  
  
"That's true." He acknowledged, crinkling the aluminum can in his fist a little. "But I'm not like most people." He grinned boyishly and Jean couldn't help but return the gesture. He was cute.  
  
"I see you're looking at that chess board over there." He wasn't, but he was now. "Want to play a game real quick?"  
  
"Real quick? I once played a game with Xavier that lasted three years!"   
  
"It should take me about three minutes to beat you," she winked. He accepted the challenge.   
  
Jean was white, and so she made her first move. A simple little pawn constructed from hand-carved wood ventured out into the battlefield. "What's on your mind, kid? You look like hell."  
  
"Nothing," he said, moving his own pawn.   
  
"Uh-huh," she said incredulously. "I mean really. I won't tell. Promise." She fastened an invisible zipper over her ruby lips and Scott's mouth formed a weak half smile. Unquestionably, she was adorable, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with admitting that. Men were allowed to appreciate beauty, even if it happened to not, gasp, be found in his wife ALL the time.   
  
He sighed and for some reason, blossomed. "Wanda's parents are coming down next week and I know is all they're going to do is sneer at me, as I'm not worthy of their daughter and all, and then turn around and nag me about impregnating her so they can have a goddamned grandchild." He took another swig of Coors. "Fuck." He'd almost wished he hadn't said that last part, but the mood struck him, and by God, he said it. Who cared? Surely not her- she didn't.  
  
Jean just continued to execute moves on the board and that was when Scott noticed that during his period of confession, she had managed to swipe a bishop and three pawns. Poor guys.  
  
"I see," she said finally, leaning back and letting him decide how to regain what he'd lost on the board. "When I was sixteen, I was at a party. It was a good boys and girls party, none of the "bad" kids, really. There were even parents right upstairs, but we were having a good time."  
  
"Uh-huh." Scott finished his beer.  
  
"Well back then, I was really naïve, I mean, really naïve."  
  
"More so than now?" Scott smiled.  
  
"What?" He winked. "Anyways, we were all downstairs just dancing and stuff when this boy I knew pretty well asked me if I wanted a drink- Pete. He was so popular and I remember having a huge crush on him. I knew the punch was spiked, but I took it anyway. I didn't want to be the only girl that didn't drink. So we went out on the patio and we talked for a couple of hours out there. I was still on my first drink, but I think I was feeling a bit tipsy. I don't know really, I still haven't drank much to this day." How cute is that? Scott thought. Shut-up, Summers. "He started getting real close to me, and finally he had me backed against a wall, whispering in my ear. I got so excited that he was actually doing what I'd only heard other girls talk about. I guess I was pretty notorious for being the virgin in school so boys kind of steered clear of me when it came to that department. It was usually just a dinner and a movie and a goodnight kiss. Not that I had exactly encouraged anything further, but they could have at least made an attempt for crying out loud!"  
  
Scott nodded, smiling. "Oh God, I think I know what's coming up, but go ahead."  
  
"So there we were, me a bit drunk and he whispering sweet nothings in my ear when suddenly, I feel his fingers slip inside of me! I asked him what he was doing and he kept saying, "it's cool, it's cool." The junior class goody-good, I didn't know WHAT was cool and what wasn't so I believed him. I just kind of stood there and let him do it. First one, then two, and I didn't know what to think. I was a little afraid someone would come out and catch us but nobody did. Finally I asked him to stop. Not because I felt violated or anything, but because it just wasn't comfortable. He wasn't exactly getting me sopping wet like I think he might have hoped. So he stopped immediately and muttered a quick "sorry," blushing like the devil. Then I just laughed and went back into the party." Jean closed her eyes and grinned. "God, that was funny. I know it doesn't sound too funny, but it was. It was hilarious."   
  
Scott laughed a little. "You're something else, Jean Grey."  
  
"Ohh, my dad was furious when he found out. I know what you're thinking. I told my dad? Yup, I told my dad everything. I never even knew my mom, so my dad had to kind of act like both. I ran home and told him and he about went out and killed Pete. I calmed him down, though."   
  
Scott swallowed, unsure of what to make of her little confession. "Don't get me wrong, this is all very interesting, but what's it got to do with Wanda's parents?"  
  
Jean shrugged. "Nothing, but I bet you didn't think about them the whole five minutes it took me to explain that whole thing. See? I helped!"  
  
He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you did." He was positive he was blushing. It wasn't every day a beautiful stranger told him about the time she first got fingered. "And I'm assuming this is true?"  
  
"Yes, this is true." She said, and it was. "But now for seriousness."  
  
Scott removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He replaced them. "No, let's not talk seriousness." He made a move with his queen, anywhere.  
  
Jean nodded. "Alright," but it wasn't really all right. She was curious as to why Scott didn't wish to have children, but she'd let it slide. Some other time, she thought.  
  
"Check mate," he said, placing his queen in one final position. His heart did a damned leap at the sight of her big blue eyes growing wide.   
  
"Oh no!" She cried, clasping her hand over her red pout. "Damn," she muttered, calculating moves with her mind. She shrugged. "I thought I maybe had a chance, but I knew I didn't, not really. You could win a strategy battle in your sleep, not an un-sexy quality in a man," she leaned back in her chair.  
  
Scott swallowed the lump in his throat. "Why do you do this to me?" He said so low she almost didn't hear it. Except she did.  
  
But she ignored it, or chose to brush it off with a laugh, for which he was eternally grateful. "I can't believe it," and then added slow and purposeful, "your queen ruined my plan." She stood and Scott almost followed her movements with his wanton eyes but instead focused them on his black queen, standing victorious over the board. In chess, everyone knew, the king truly did nothing but be protected. The queen- she did everything. And when two queens battled, well, it was hell.  
  
**  
  
Rogue's toes were lined with the edge of the forty-story building. Sometimes, when it was very late like it was now, and she couldn't sleep, she would find herself at the top of New York skyscrapers like this and just peer over the edge, watching the busy city streets. Everyone down there had a purpose; everyone had to get somewhere, to a family, a home, a husband or wife. Rogue choked back tears in her throat at the thought of Caleb's soft black curls tickling her cheek when they would wake up every morning. Her eyelashes would flutter open and she'd just lie there and try to match his breathing, just because he was there and she was there and they were together.   
  
Rogue shook her head, locks of brown tumbling in her face and dancing in the merciless wind. Sometimes, thoughts like that just came to her, memories she'd tried hard to bury inside of her. She knew she'd never be able to fully erase them, but finding his killer would no doubt help tremendously.   
  
She didn't think about him too often anymore, but a memory like that would always resurface when she was on one of those buildings, so achingly close to heaven but still planted on God's green earth. Sick of thinking for one night, Rogue jumped.  
  
And flew, and flew, and flew. The wind embraced her like a lover and suddenly there was no Remy, no Bobby, not even Caleb existed. Just her and earth and air.   
  
**  
  
The next morning, the sun flittered through Scott and Wanda's curtains like tiny diamonds cascading off of Wanda's hair and cheeks. Scott watched her for an extra second before her eyelids fluttered open and she pulled him down to kiss her full on the mouth.  
  
"Morning," she whispered. Scott loved that- she whispered in the morning and at night.  
  
"Morning," he rasped, realizing his throat was dry.   
  
She yawned and settled into their down comforter. "We better start planning for my mom and dad's visit."  
  
"What's to plan? I say we buy a nice round trip back to Florida."  
  
She smacked his shoulder. "Scott! You're terrible!" He shrugged, his hand trailing down her stomach and back up under her nightshirt. "But you're also devastatingly sexy." She mumbled, taking his earlobe in her mouth and nibbling gently.  
  
"Seriously, I'm not looking forward to their visit. Is all they do is reprimand me and pressure me into knocking you up. Christ, when we first started dating your dad told me if I went anywhere near between your thighs he'd castrate me. I swear to God, they hate me."  
  
She pulled him close. "Aw, baby, they don't hate you. Why don't you try being a little nicer to daddy, hmm?"   
  
"Nicer? I am nice!"   
  
She kissed his mouth, he only partially responsive this time. "Don't worry about it, hun. Now where were we?" She kissed a trail down his neck. Scott should have expected as much. Fights with Wanda were short and few between. Not because she was a pushover, but because she didn't regard anything as overly serious. Growing up with the proverbial silver spoon jammed down her throat, it was only natural she should act this way. But sometimes, only sometimes though, it got on her husband's nerves. "Don't worry, hun." "Don't think about it, Scott." Pretend it doesn't exist Scott.  
  
"I can't do this," he said against her mouth. She released him as he stood and tugged on a pair of sweats.   
  
"What?"  
  
"I can't do this," he repeated, gentler this time. "I have an early Danger Room meeting scheduled. I'm sorry, babe." He leaned down to kiss the corner of her mouth and then he was out the door.   
  
Wanda fell back onto their bed. What the hell?  
  
  
  
A/N  
Hi Hi Hi there! S'Okay, what'd everyone think? OH! And you gotta tell me, I just gotta know, who do you think the Heartbreaker is? I'm definitely going to be mentioning that bit of the story more in the next chapter. Bear with me, droogies!   
Love or hate, REVIEW! 


	5. Chivalry

Gloss  
  
  
Remy leaned back into the headboard, adjusting the paperback between his hands. Perhaps it was irony, or he wasn't really sure, but something compelled him to finish The Crucible if it was the last thing he did. True, the pages were sopping wet with angst and positively dripping with self-pity, but he forced himself to read on. After all, it was a classic tale of sin and a desperate hope for redemption, and the Lord knew Remy was all about begging forgiveness as of about three years ago.   
  
Sensing someone at his door, he looked up from the novel. His heart twisted. "Hey chere," he said, closing the book.  
  
"Hah Remy."   
  
"What brings you my way, hmm?" He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.  
  
She shrugged. "Ah don't know, really. Guess Ah just came bah to see what you were doing." She entered the room and closed the distance between her and the bed. "And to ask why you been avoiding me lately, Cajun."   
  
He smirked, tilting his head a fraction to the left. "Avoiding you? I haven't been avoiding anyone." She shot him a knowing look with impossibly green eyes. "Alright, alright. Maybe just a little." He displayed an inches length between his thumb and forefinger.   
  
She plopped beside him. "Why?"   
  
He smothered a cigarette he'd just noticed withering in an ashtray beside his bed. "You know why."  
  
She rolled her eyes and leaned back on her hands. "Shoahly not because you happen to catch Bobby's grubby fingers all ovah me."  
  
He nodded, turning to face her. "Dat's right."  
  
She sighed, cupping his face in her hands. "Remy, yoah ovahreacting. Believe me, if Ah'd know you were coming Ah nevah would have let him touch me! But Ah couldn't wait fohevah and I needed a man's touch, even if it wasn't yoah hands on me." She lifted his hand and placed it on her hip, just under her shirt. "But you can touch me now."  
  
He hesitated, staring at his hand on her soft, white skin. "I don't know." He turned his head nobly but she brought it back to meet her fetching eyes.  
  
"Please, Remy. If you don't kiss me raght now, Ah'll die." Without waiting for a response, she pressed her hungry mouth against his placid mouth. She nestled into his arms. "Ah need you. Raght now," she breathed between kisses as she unbuttoned his shirt.  
  
Finally, he complied, slipping his tongue between her lips and reveling in her satisfied moans and frantic groping.   
  
Remy bolted upright in his bed, sweat forming on his brow, his legs tangled in his sheets, and a copy of The Crucible draped over his stomach. He decided he must have dozed off again, reading. He whipped his head toward the door, vaguely remembering what woke him up.  
  
"Remy!" Rogue knocked three times, hard. ""Ah am NOT going to tell you again, boy! Get up!"  
  
The door swung open and she gasped. "Oh! There yah are!" He grinned and she smothered one of her own, but it was futile. The man was poisonous. "Xaviah's getting ready to leave and he wants all of us downstairs." Her eyes couldn't resist traveling the length of his body. Naturally, he let her. Down his toned chest and flat six-pack, to his muscular legs and back up to his... book? "What's that?" She asked.  
  
Remy looked down at it, forgetting he held it. "It's called a book, chere."   
  
"Don't get smart. Ah'll steal yah in yoah left eye." Remy knew she didn't bluff.  
  
"De Crucible." Remy said, showing her the title.  
  
Her eyebrows lifted, impressed. "Who would have thought a swamp rat like yoahself would be interested in great literature?"  
  
He shrugged modestly. "Is dat a compliment?"  
  
She smiled. It was a nice smile; he loved it. "Maybe."  
  
"You know, you're mout' is real pretty when it's not snapping at people all de time."  
  
Her gaze widened. "Ah do not snap, mistah! You'll do well to know that Ah am a kind, generous soul that wouldn't hur-"  
  
"Oh my pater. Give me a break!"  
  
Indignantly, she replied, "Well Ah'm not the one that took it upon himself to IGNORE me for the last couple of days! What is that all about?" By now their argument had progressed to the middle of his room, door still ajar.  
  
Remy blinked. Déjà vu. "I was ignoring you because it looked like you were getting all de attention you needed." He threw his blankets up on his bed and sat down.  
  
"Ah, dear man, am a southern belle." She smiled sweetly. "We can't GET enough attention." They paused, and just like that, the cold shoulders and hurtful glares that had been exchanged within the last few days were over, because neither really wanted to continue. "So really, where'd you learn to love literature?"  
  
He tossed the book onto the floor, stalling until he decided on the perfect response. "It's... a long story, belle. Maybe I'll tell you someday." But it's unlikely. "Besides," he continued, "can't a man just read in peace!" He broke into dramatic cries. "Why can't you just leave me alone? BASTARD!" He hurled a pillow at her and buried him self in his sheets, fake sobs racking his body. "Whhhyyyy!"   
  
"Remy." Both southerners' heads turned to see Scott in the doorway, shock and amusement etched into their features. "Downstairs. Now." He said and walked away, but not without casting one more confused glare at his teammates.  
  
**  
  
The team gathered around Xavier's limousine.   
  
"As you all know, I won't be back for a good two weeks. Until then, Scott will keep me posted on your progress or problems." He smiled and exchanged good-byes with his students. They waved him off collectively.  
  
When he was out of sight, most scattered to engage in their individual pastimes. Wanda slipped her arms around Scott's waist from behind. "You know what today is." She said, her playful lips brushing against his ear and chin resting on his shoulder.  
  
He sighed, leaning back into her. "I know, I know. What time?"   
  
She released him. "They told us to be at the airport around four." She glanced at her watch: two-thirty.  
  
He shook his head ruefully. "Sorry gorgeous, but I'm monitoring the blue team Danger Room session in an hour. I don't think I'll be able to go with you."  
  
She led him back into the mansion through the kitchen French doors and retrieved a bottled water from the fridge. "That's alright. It'll give my mom and me some time to talk about you behind your back." She smiled wickedly. He kissed the top of her head.   
  
**  
  
Remy ran, and ran, and ran until his heart felt like it'd burst inside his body. His tennis shoes pounded against the black pavement of the track, each thud, thud, thud echoing through his ears with perfect clarity. When he was a kid scraping for his every last meal on the merciless streets of Louisiana, he'd gotten accustomed to running. Obviously, he didn't need to run too often anymore. Old habits die hard.  
  
So every so often, he just laced up the old Nikes and set out to conquer the track beside Xavier's mansion. He had about three, three-and-a-half miles behind him- he'd lost count- when he saw the limousine rolling into the drive. His first reaction was that Xavier had forgotten something, but he banished the thought just as quickly for several obvious reasons. 'A telepath forgettin' his toothbrush, Remy. Nice one,' he thought.   
  
Not only that, but Xavier's oversized car that screamed 'Look at me; I've got money!' was black. This one was clearly white. And Remy vaguely recalled Scott telling him Wanda's parents were going to be popping in this weekend. That thought made Remy laugh and not a little sympathetic for his visored field leader. Poor bastard.  
  
Deciding to call it a run, he turned and picked up his jog to a sprint for the mansion.   
  
  
  
"Alright, team, that's enough for today. Wanda should be back any minute. Hit the showers."  
  
The X-Men's blue team, fatigued and aching in all sorts of places, groaned a weak thank you and herded into the locker rooms. All except one. Scott watched her with apprehensiveness and a guilty twinge of excitement.  
  
Jean lingered for a moment longer, patting her cheeks with the white sweat towel. "So this is the big day," she said.  
  
He nodded, descending the stairs from the monitoring booth. "Yep, this is it."  
  
"Nervous?"  
  
"Not so much as that. Just dreading it I suppose."  
  
She gave him a lighthearted push. "Suck it up. You'll be fine." And then she was in the locker rooms showering, leaving Scott to chastise himself for indulging in those few stolen moments between the two of them. This was getting out of hand. And Scott hated anything he couldn't control.  
  
  
**  
  
After everyone had met and shook hands, they all sat down for a nice Sunday meal Wanda had let simmer in the oven all day. They had all nibbled their appetizers, sipped their cocktails, and found a seat around the large mahogany table. And still they waited. On Remy.  
  
"Should I go call him again?" Wanda asked, her big dark eyes swimming in what could have passed for worry, but Scott knew was annoyance.   
  
"No, no," her father said, latching onto her wrist and sitting her back down. "He'll be here any moment." Edward patted his daughter's hand reassuringly and she settled back into her seat.  
  
Finally, everyone turned at the sound of bare footsteps padding down the hall. Remy appeared clad in black pants and a gray button-down, half open, his hair damp and stringy to his shoulders.  
  
"I am so sorry for de delay, ladies and gentlemen."   
  
Rogue stifled a grin.  
  
Scott stiffened, as did his wife and her parents. Remy noticed their disapproval. "I was running when I saw de car pull in and, well, let me tell you, I was a sight to see. So I just hopped into de shower. Didn't realize you'd all be gat'ered 'round de table like dis. My apologies, chere," he bowed graciously before Cynthia, Wanda's flushed mother.   
  
"Oh, well, that's quite alright," Cynthia said, bringing her hand to her fluttering heart. She looked to her husband. "My, isn't he a charmer!"  
  
The table chuckled and Remy took the remaining seat next to Logan. "And I smell terrific!" Remy added, reaching first for the mashed potatoes and thereby breaking any remaining ice.  
  
Even Scott relaxed enough to enjoy the meal. Wanda remained furious.  
  
As people finished their meals, she stood and asked who wanted what kind of pie and coffee.   
  
"Oh, sit down, Wanda. I'd be glad to do it," Jean offered, standing.   
  
"No, I wouldn't dream of it."  
  
"Oh please. At least let me help." The two women disappeared into the kitchen and began fractioning pies and pouring cups of coffee.  
  
Back in the dining room, Edward was beginning to get a little disgusted. It was blatantly obvious to the wealthy entrepreneur that that Warren fellow was a bit sweet on the black woman, sitting dangerously close to her and sneaking sideways glances at her whenever he thought no one was looking. 'It just ain't right,' he decided silently and shook his head. Sure, she didn't look all that bad, was probably a good fuck really, if you were into that kind of thing, but let's be honest. What red-blooded man WASN'T into a fantastic pair of tits? But that Warren kid could do so much better. Yes sir, a lot better indeed.   
  
Edward's stares did not go unnoticed, and just as Jean and Wanda reappeared with arms full of pie and coffee, Ororo turned to him and spoke, her voice regal and prominent, but laced with a tang of irritation just the same. "Why stare, sir?"  
  
Jean, just setting her last piece in front of Scott, took notice of the exchange. She and Scott exchanged one wary glance before listening in along with the rest of the table.  
  
Edward coughed, a bit embarrassed. Damn it, no. No one embarrassed him. Especially not this bitch. "I was just thinking that you should stick to your own kind, woman." His voice bled.   
  
Forks clattered and jaws clenched. Warren shot up from his seat and leaned across the table. "Who the hell do you think you are?" He nearly screamed. Remy and Logan ushered him back into his seat. Eyes darted frantically from Edward to Ororo until Cynthia's smothered giggle could be heard from beside the obese businessman.   
  
"Oh, Edward, for God's sake," she laughed, smacking his chest playfully. Jean's face twisted in disgust at the woman's nonchalant response to her husband's barefaced hateful remarks.  
  
Ororo, a blue calm sea, slid back from the table and made her way up the stairs, a lightening bolt striking outside accompanying her exit. Jean followed, stopped at the dining room doorway, and looked back, first at Wanda, then Scott, then spun on her heel and up the stairs after the weather goddess.   
  
Scott sighed in his seat. It was going to be a long night. Wanda scoffed. "Gawd," she stage-whispered at her mother who was puffing on her slim cigarette "some people are so touchy."  
  
**  
  
"Ororo," Jean knocked tentatively on the woman's attic door. "It's Jean." Still nothing. "Look I know we don't know each other very well but you have to talk to SOMEONE."   
  
"No I don't, Ororo sang from behind the door. Jean smiled.   
  
"Yes you do," she called back. "Now open this door young lady!"  
  
The door flew open to reveal a pacified Ororo, the only hint of tears swimming in her eyes but yet to fall. Jean entered and slammed the door behind her telekinetically.  
  
The rain beat down on the windows above her head with violent ferocity. Jean approached Ororo on her bed and slowly took a seat beside her. The comforter was gold and white, the fireplace flames casting warm gilded shadows off of it and all around her room.   
  
"I don't know what to say," Jean began, "but if you want to say anything, I'll listen."  
  
Ororo bowed her head and swallowed. "I don't know what to say, either. It was... embarrassing, and hateful, and yet- I know that I will have to endure that man for a small portion of my life, but he will have to live with himself for the rest of his worthless existence. So I guess, in a way, I pity him." She chuckled dryly and sniffed. "But not really." It wasn't his remark entirely that Ororo was upset about, but the fact that she did indeed harbor some feelings toward Warren, no matter what they may be. And she couldn't help but wonder, what if they were to someday become an "item?" Was this just a sample of the way they'd be treated?  
  
She wasn't crying, Jean knew, but that was probably because her tears fell from heaven, not her deep sapphire eyes.   
  
"Don't pity that sorry, fat, sack of shit. He'll never amount to anything except a couple of bank accounts and a pathetic sex life." They shared a small laugh. "I'm serious! I bet half the time he can't even get the tiny thing up."  
  
"Assuming he's got somethin' between his fat legs," Rogue said from the door. "Can I come in? I brought ice cream?" She held up the carton in her hands.  
  
Ororo nodded. "Then definitely." She wasn't going to let an ignorant fraction of a man dampen her mood... or her craving for mint-chocolate-chip.  
  
**  
  
Scott scribbled the last few additions onto his sheet when someone knocked. "It's open."  
  
Jean stepped in. He almost wished she hadn't. Being married to the family that started the ugly feud at dinner earlier that evening, he was caught between a rock and a hard place.  
  
"Hi there," he said, polite just the same and leaning back into his chair. "What can I do for you?"  
  
A wicked smile played on Jean's lips but she dissolved it just as quickly, leaving him to come to his own conclusions. By the look on his face, he clearly had. Don't, she thought. Let's not stir a boiling cauldron.   
  
"Have you talked to her?" Straight and to the point- she knew Scott liked that. She idly wondered what else Scott liked. Damn it, Jean!   
  
He shook his head. "No, she's downstairs in the parlor with Cynthia. I plan on letting her know how I feel about it soon, though. Before the night is over."  
  
She clutched her hips. "See that you do! Ororo was very hurt by Daddy's little remark," she spat.  
  
"I know. I've looked outside lately." He said wryly.  
  
Jean smiled despite herself. It was bound to pour all night. Let it. Who the hell really cared? "I think he should apologize. That was VERY disrespectful." Jean was fuming now, pacing back and forth in front of his desk. "Augh!" She slammed a fist into her other palm. "People like that make me want to punch them in the face until they bleed!"  
  
Scott's eyebrows shot up. "Whoa," he said simply.  
  
She stopped. "What?"  
  
"Nothing, it's just... whoa. I've never heard you talk like that."  
  
She blushed and tilted her head to the side challengingly. "You like it?"  
  
He shifted in his seat. "Ahem, um, I didn't..." She laughed, cutting him off.  
  
"Yeah." And then she left.   
  
**  
  
Ice cream was all well and good for the immediate after-effects, but Ororo needed something stiff. She didn't drink a whole lot, but some things got her in the mood. A racist, sniveling jack-off like Edward put her in the mood.   
  
And yet whom should she find at the very mini-bar she selected to indulge in her late night bourbon?  
  
Smelling of alcohol and grotesque bodily gas, he was sprawled onto the bar, his hulking form just barely balancing on the stool and his arms and head flopped onto the counter.   
  
He squinted when she flicked on the light. "Huh? Oh, hey you. Come in for a drink, have ya'?"  
  
Ororo went behind the bar.  
  
"Oh, what? Not talking to me, eh?" He laughed but was tripped in a revolting belch. Ororo rolled her eyes, disgusted, and continued plopping ice cubes into her glass. Plunk, plunk. When she finished, she came from behind the bar and made her way out of the room. He caught her wrist and yanked her back.   
  
"Aw c'mon, beauty queen. I didn't mean it; I say dumb things sometimes." His voice was slurred and he reeked of alcohol. He placed a pudgy, undeserving hand on her mocha elbow. "But I'm not so dumb all the time. Sometimes I say... and DO all the right things." His voice was low and guttural. Ororo nearly vomited.  
  
"Remove your hand from me before you pull back a bloody nub, sir."  
  
His face tightened and he drew his arm back as if to smack her across the cheek. "You worthless bitch. The only place that will ever be for you is either around my cock or as my slave, you understand? You're nothing bu-"  
  
Ororo smacked her fist into his left eye, and then again into his mouth. He fell hard on his back, his face a mangled bloody mess, unconscious. She inhaled deeply, straightened her shirt, picked up her drink, and left, swallowing her bourbon and water. "Bastard."  
  
**  
  
Warren woke up the next morning to the unmistakable sounds of his brother's footsteps rushing down the hall. "Warren!" He called breathlessly, bursting through the elder Worthington's doors, grin stuck on his face. "Warren, guess what! You'll never guess."  
  
Warren threw his comforter back. "What, Bobby?"  
  
"Omi God. It is the FUNNIEST thing. Eddie-boy was found passed out drunk at the Rec. Room bar. Doesn't remember half of yesterday, stupid sunuvabitch." Bobby shook his head, rummaging through his brother's closet.   
  
Warren sat up. "Really? He was?"  
  
"Hell yeah, man. Great God, what I wouldn't have given to see that fat bastard lying on the ground. Yuck!" He laughed uproariously at whatever he thought was incredibly hysterical. Pausing, he snatched a green Polo hanging in Warren's closet. "Hey, can I borrow this?"  
  
"What for?" Warren pulled on a pair of boxers.  
  
"My date." Bobby said casually, shrugging his shoulders.  
  
"YOU have a date?" He stumbled into his bathroom and ran the faucet.  
  
"Yes, I have a date. Don't sound so shocked!"   
  
Warren stuck his toothbrush in his mouth. "Okay."  
  
"Okay you're not shocked or okay I can borrow this shirt?" He called into the bathroom.  
  
"Boff." Warren said around his toothbrush.  
  
"Great!" Bobby lingered in the doorway for an extra second until finally, "Well! Aren't you gonna ask who I'm going out with?"  
  
Warren looked at him through the mirror. He shrugged. "Okay. Who?"  
  
"See that's the thing. I haven't exactly ASKED her yet." Warren rolled his eyes. His brother was a trip. "Don't gimme that! She'll say yes! She's gotta. Well, I mean, I hope she does. I really hope sh-"  
  
"Alright, alright." Warren dabbed his mouth with the face towel. "Who is it, lil bro?"  
  
He sighed, leaning into the wall. "Rogue."  
  
Warren nodded approvingly. "She's cute."  
  
"Cute?! She's beautiful. She's a rising sun! She's a full moon! She's... really hot! And funny. And nice. And she understands, you know what I mean?"  
  
"No I can't say I do." Warren remarked dryly.  
  
"That's because YOU don't understand!"  
  
**  
  
Wanda positioned the hat on her head, talking into the mirror back at Scott. "We probably won't be back until evening, so I won't be making dinner. Mother wants to visit some of the stores so I thought I'd take her to do a little shopping."  
  
Scott, standing awkwardly behind her with his hands stuffed in his jean pockets, nodded. "Alright."  
  
She turned, a playful pout painting her full lips. "Oh, darling," she approached him and straightened his shirt, "I know you're angry with me, but don't worry. We'll all forget about it soon enough."  
  
Scott's teeth clenched inside his mouth but he remained silent. Instead, he squeezed her hands and disappeared into their bathroom.  
  
Wanda sighed and headed out the door, purse clutched between her hands and a lively spring in her step. Forget the world today! Today was shopping!  
  
Scott slammed the faucet down after he heard the door close behind her. While drying his hands he heard it open and shut again, but no proceeding footsteps. Curious, he poked his head out the door.  
  
Jean leaned against the back of his bedroom door. "Oh, darling," she said sardonically, "I know you're angry with me but..." Jean stopped. "And you don't even know the half of it! Do you know that pig tried to lay a move on her last night?"  
  
Scott looked out his window. "I figured as much. When I found Eddie I had to clean him up- blood you know. He'll just have to tell his wife he must have gotten the black eye collapsing onto the ground."  
  
"The nerve of him! And what does Wanda have to say about this?"   
  
"She's shopping."  
  
Jean's face scrunched contemptuously. "She would be shopping. I'm sorry but your wife- she's shallow. You know that, right?"  
  
"No, I mean, no, we're not having this discussion." Scott felt a bit insulted. "That's my wife you're talking about." He said simply.  
  
Jean clamped her mouth shut. "Oh. I'm sorry," she said quietly, and left the way she came. It wasn't that he agreed with Wanda. Of course he didn't. But he couldn't let someone stand there and speak about her the way Jean just did. Scott's shoulders straightened, a bit proud with himself, but not without a pang of guilt.  
  
**  
  
  
"Ah swear to God, if we don't get a lead soon Ah'm just going to hold this place hostage and find out the old-fashioned way."  
  
Logan grunted. "I've told you my suspicions, but you know the saying: love is smoke in the eyes, love makes your eyes smoky, the smoke gets in your eyes. Something like that; you know the one." He waved his cigar at her and she perked an eyebrow in return.  
  
"Yoah wrong about that one, Logan. There is no way Remy is the one; Ah just know it."  
  
"How can you say that Rogue?" He sat up in his chair. "He's the perfect candidate: young, attractive, has some cash but not too much, smart, and not Harvard smart, neither- Brooklyn smart."  
  
"You just don't know him like Ah know him." Rogue defended, sinking into her own chair.  
  
"You don't know anyone! I've decided our problem is each other."  
  
Rogue shot him a look. "Each othah?"  
  
"Yeah. We need to socialize a bit. The more we keep talking like this the more of a solid bubble we'll put around us. Let's just... you know, mingle."  
  
"Mingle? Alraght, I can mingle." She straightened, nodding. "Yeah. Ah can mingle."  
  
  
**  
  
  
Warren tapped Ororo's open door. She looked up from her fingernail polish and smiled. "Hello, Warren."   
  
"Hey 'Ro. I uh, just came by to see how you were doing. Good?"  
  
She nodded. "Yes."  
  
He nodded too, and then an immense silence. She continued to apply the nail polish in long even strokes. The apple red complimented her skin wonderfully. He shifted his weight awkwardly.   
  
"So..." he began. "Is there anything I can, you know, do? Do you want to talk?"  
  
She shook her head. "No I'm fine." Her voice was low and languid.  
  
He nodded again, this time in finality. "Alright." He made way toward the door. "I guess I'll... see you around then?"  
  
She smiled tightly. "Alright."  
  
On the other side of her door, Warren sighed, defeated. That went terribly. He was a fool to come barging in like a knight in white satin. He should have known that the last thing she probably wanted was pity. But I wasn't pitying her. I was simply... concerned. He leaned against a wall and tipped his head back, clenching his eyelids shut. God that woman drives me crazy.  
  
Inside, Ororo blew softly on her wet nails. She didn't like pity, but she knew Warren's intentions were good. She'd decided last night to keep her distance from the boy billionaire. If she didn't raise his hopes now, they wouldn't fall so hard when she left this place. Simple as that.  
  
  
**  
  
A voice spoke low on one end of the line.   
  
"Hey Julius, it's me."  
  
"Heartbreaker!" The other voice cried. "Hey guys, shut the fuck up, it's Heart!" Silence consumed both ends of the line. "What's up? How's that Xavier's place? Somethin' wrong?"  
  
"I don't know. Things just don't feel right here. You know what I mean? You're sure I don't have a tail at this joint?"  
  
Julius' sucked his teeth. "No, how many times I gotta tell ya', boss? We checked the feds, the IRS, the Secret Service, everyone! You understand? Everyone! Nobody, and I mean nobody, is in that mansion with you that shouldn't be."  
  
The heartbreaker's eyes darted around the bedroom, expecting someone to charge in at any minute with handcuffs. "Word on the street is there's another division- a secret one. Call it the... the-"  
  
"The Opal Meridian?"  
  
"Yea."  
  
"Yea we heard of that," his New York accent thick. "It's a myth, Heart. A myth. They tell these crazy stories to scare people like us. But I know you have nothing to worry about. Trust me, kid. Trust me. Hey, have I ever lead you wrong, eh? Have I?"  
  
"No Julius, but let this not be the first time, or one of us will regret it, and it will not be me." An abrupt click and then the conversation is over.  
  
  
**  
  
Rogue stabbed the earring through her lobes and slipped the backs on. She smoothed her designer pants against her shapely thighs and adjusted the lace top. Her hair fell to her shoulders in large brunette curls, the white streak coiling in one large cable of snow against her brown strands. "Damn. Not bad if Ah do say so mahself," she smiled into the full-length mirror. She headed for her door but stopped, spinning on her heel and heading back. "On second thought." She snatched her undercover badge from her jewelry box and pinned it on the inside of her shirt over the valley between her breasts, careful only to take a thin layer of fabric so the pin did not show on the other side. "Just in case," she mumbled, and was soon descending the mansion stairway.  
  
She was flabbergasted at first when Bobby asked her on a date. Her first date since Caleb died. Her first reaction: No, Bobby, I don't think so. But she quickly stopped herself. Logan said socialize, and refusing would only raise suspicion. She suspected that some of them already thought her and Logan lovers. After all, why would a beautiful, single woman refuse an innocent Friday night date with an attractive, wealthy blond? Two and two makes four and Rogue wasn't going to raise question. Besides, on account of Mr. Asshole and his stuck-up, country club wife going back to Florida where they came from, everyone in the mansion was entitled to at least a small celebration.   
  
Downstairs, Bobby stood impatiently by the front doors. He straightened his, or Warren's rather, shirt, he ran a hand through his blonde locks, he cupped a palm in front of his face and checked his breath. "Ugh," Bobby's features scrunched. "Way funky."  
  
He dug into his pockets for his breath spray and shot two squirts in his mouth, and then another, just in case.  
  
His brother passed him in the foyer, a ham sandwich in one hand. He shook his head.   
  
"Hey, I don' even want to hear a word out of you, loser. Where's YOUR date, hmm?"  
  
Warren shrugged. "Can't argue with that. But I was thinking maybe I'll catch her in front of the T.V. or something and then it's 'oops, didn't know you were here. Want some company?'   
  
Bobby smirked. "Good luck, but I doubt you'll find Ororo in front of the television on a Friday night, unlike some losers I know..." his voice trailed.  
  
Warren rolled his eyes but disappeared on account of Rogue's appearance at the top of the stairs. "Have a good time, Bobo."  
  
But Bobby wasn't listening. His breath caught in his throat. Man did she look amazing.   
  
"Ready?" She asked?  
  
He nodded dumbly. 'Uh, yeah! Oh, yeah. Ready."  
  
He swung his car keys and they exited through the front doors.  
  
Remy, unnoticed in the far kitchen doorway, watched them depart in Warren's Ferrari. He shuffled cards slowly between his hands, his fingertips blazing an amber orange.   
  
  
  
NEXT TIME: Find out Remy's dirty lil secret, and who the Heartbreaker is. Are the two events related? You just wait and see.  
  
Thanks a ton for the reviews so far; you guys rock! And I understand that not only who killed Caleb but why is very important, but I've decided to hold off on that until we discover who Heartbreaker is, that way it's a surprise... I hope. 


	6. Chapter 6

When Bobby was twelve, his older brother Warren gave him a black eye in front of Mary Bell- the prettiest girl in junior high.   
  
When he was sixteen, he got a flat tire in the middle of I-95.   
  
But never, ever had he been this angry in his entire life. His knuckles grew white around the wheel. The nerve of those FOH bastards ruining his hard-earned date with Rogue. Just wait 'til I get my hands on those sons of bitches.   
  
He and Rogue had been killing time at a small café until it was about time to start heading for the movie theatre, sipping drinks and chatting amicably. As Bobby was signing the receipt, he felt Rogue's hand clutch his arm.   
  
"Bobby, look!"  
  
He peered out of the large window and saw a herd of FOH members holding crude painted signs, chanting some protest or another. It appeared to be a rally. Bobby highly doubted they had the authorization to be there and inevitably police would soon be gathering to break up the party, which meant there'd be trouble. He sighed and turned to Rogue with a bleak look.   
  
"I don't suppose we could just ditch it and pretend we didn't see it?" He half-joked.  
  
She smiled and shook her head. "Let's go."  
  
So there they were, speeding home to present the problem to Scott so they could assess the situation. They pulled into the drive and Rogue looked over at Bobby, sympathy etched into her pretty features.  
  
"Ah'm sorry, Bobby. We'll do this some othah time." She ran a hand through his hair and leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek. He was on air.  
  
It wasn't long after they returned that almost the entire team had gathered at the door.   
  
"What happened?"  
  
Scott soon followed, already on top of it. "The rally?"  
  
Bobby nodded glumly. Scott continued. "Thought so. I just picked it up on the news. Alright, I want to assemble the least suspecting team appearance wise. This should be a simple in-out so I'm not terribly concerned about combat ability at the moment." Scott went on to select the proverbial blonde hair-blue eyed members of the team. "Jean, Bobby, and Warren, you're with me."  
  
Bobby's shoulders slumped. Damn. Rogue shared a rueful look with him but smiled reassuringly. Remy nearly cringed despite himself.  
  
The four suited up and trooped out, deciding on the less conspicuous SUV as opposed to the sleek Blackbird.  
  
When they were gone, the majority of the team dispersed.  
  
"This is crazy," Rogue said, trying to sound insecure even though she wanted nothing more than to go lock half of the FOH idiots' sorry asses up behind bars. Beside her, Remy nodded.  
  
Ororo sighed. "I can not handle any more stupidity for the evening so I am retiring to bed." She ascended the stairs, her flowing dress whispering behind her, and soon disappeared around the corner.  
  
Remy turned to Rogue. "But no reason to spoil a perfectly good evening, eh?"  
  
"What are you talkin' about, swamprat?"  
  
He slipped his arm through hers and led her toward the door. "Let's go have some fun, chere."  
  
She maneuvered from his hold. "Ah don't think so, thanks. Ah was supposed to go out with Bobby tonight. Ah don't think Ah should-"  
  
"Bobby," he repeated as if he were tossing an unfamiliar name around in his head. "Ah yes, Bobby- a boy that is not presently with us, is he?" She suppressed a smile.  
  
"Yoah incorrigible, suh."  
  
"No, I'm bored. Come. Let us not waste an entire Friday night." He draped an arm across her shoulders and proceeded once more for the door.  
  
This time she let him guide her past the entrance and onto the back of his bike.   
  
**  
  
Rogue was on air. The night had been positively blissful. When she told him she didn't feel like seeing a movie anymore, he nodded and told her he had a perfect idea. Rogue was a tad doubtful, but he told her she wouldn't regret it and to simply trust him. She agreed, climbing back onto his bike and clinging to his jacket from behind. He revved the engine and they went flying down a highway just over a cliff on the outskirts of New York. It overlooked a raging sea with merciless waves crashing down white onto jagged rocks, a cloudy blue sky speckled with stars hovering above it like a blanket. It was a breath-stealing sight, and for an hour they rode along that strip of road, her arms wrapped around him and hair whipping behind her in a tail of auburn and bolt of white.   
  
It was just rolling into midnight when they arrived back at the mansion. Giggling and standing questionably close, they stumbled up the stairs and he walked her to her room, a perfect gentleman.   
  
"Ah had a real nice time, Remy." She said low in the dark hallway. He smiled.  
  
"Good. Mission accomplished." He closed the space between them, his breath ragged on her cheeks. He leaned in slightly, and she tipped her head up in encouragement. He dove in for a kiss, to which she responded fully.   
  
Remy had kissed a lot of women in his life, perhaps more than he'd care to count, but he was particularly fond of her kiss. She didn't press back hungrily like a desperate hound, but she didn't shy away from his lips like a nervous butterfly, either. She simply kissed back, slow and sensual. Remy adored her for that. They parted slowly, her rose-soft lips parting to release a husky breath.   
  
She snickered, followed by a silent beat. She leaned into her door nervously. "You... wanna come in?"  
  
His smile widened. "I don't know. Do you want me to come in?"  
  
Rogue closed her eyes in contemplation. "Yeah," she said finally. "Ah do."  
  
"Me too," he said, and they slipped into her bedroom, the door shutting with a soft click that reverberated off the dark hallway.  
  
After some petty small talk but before they knew it, he was lowering her onto her pillow, cradling her head with a gentle hand behind her neck and a fervent kiss on his lips.  
  
Rogue's mind hurled into an abyss of doubt and lust. He was beautiful, but not the way Caleb was beautiful. But she could go no further with her thoughts because every time her mind wandered to Caleb his fingers would send spills down her spine or his lips would graze across her neck leaving a hot trail of electricity and she could think no more.   
  
"Remy," she breathed.  
  
His hands fumbled with her blouse, his slender fingers becoming tangled and untangled in the fine loops of her woven lace until finally it was open, exposing her lacy black bra and toned abdomen. Remy, holding his weight over her on his elbows, took a brief second to admire her. Her skin was like lilies and soft like rain. He kissed her stomach, reveling in her sighs and the feel of her hands raking through his hair while her head lolled dreamily from side to side, a smile playing on her lips.   
  
His hand roamed up to her bra to fondle a plump breast through the fabric, the other still grasping her shirt to rid her of it completely. "What is dis?" His voice pierced through the heady atmosphere and Rogue's eyes flew open.  
  
Shit! She thought, struggling to sit up.   
  
"No, no, no" he said, his lips quirking in half-amusement. His nimble hand still planted under her shirt if not awkwardly, deftly maneuvered the metal pin from the inside of it. She nearly clawed at him to retrieve it.  
  
"Give it to me!" She wailed, toppling over him on the bed.  
  
He laughed. "What have we got here?" Fending her off playfully, his eyes fell on the tiny object. He examined it with wide eyes.  
  
"Oh my God," he muttered, his defending arm dropping in shock. She seized the opportunity to snatch the tiny badge back.   
  
"Remy-" she began, but he was already halfway out the door.  
  
  
**  
  
Jean was dozing when she heard the yelling. Her eyes immediately snapped open.  
  
Her green cotton tank and small gray shorts would have to suffice as she bolted from her room and down the stairs to see what the commotion was all about. Remy was in the foyer, ranting like a madman in the center of a circle provided by an attentive Scott, his roused wife with mussed hair and sleepy eyes, and a frustrated-looking Rogue, standing a few feet behind him with her hands clutching at her hips in what looked like restraint from doing any physical harm to the Cajun. She appeared to be holding her tongue for her turn to speak and fighting a losing battle.  
  
"What's going on down here?" Jean asked, stifling a yawn.  
  
They spun at the sound of her voice, looking like deer caught in headlights. Wanda's eyes grew in disapproval, more than likely at Jean's less than modest apparel.   
  
"Remy was just telling us he found one of Charlie's angels."  
  
The New York native's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"  
  
Remy went on to recount his tale of discovery. Rogue huffed behind him, sharing her side of the story, including the murder investigation. She and Logan had always planned on telling them sooner or later, she had just hoped it'd be later. After all, now that she revealed herself, the murderer would more than likely do one of two things: run or try to kill them. Either way, Rogue and Logan would have their guy and then this little search game would be over. Just the same, she was hoping for a little more time to settle into the mansion and discover the killer in stealth. Unfortunately, she hadn't bargained on Remy. "Ah'm sorry. Perhaps I should have told you, at least the professah, but Ah have to stay incognito, it's mah job, alraght? We we're gonna tell you." Jean could tell this southern pistol was irritable and cocked.   
  
" When? You didn't even tell Xavier? What are you going to do when he finds out? This is his home, his property; you should have told him!" Jean's voice rose to a shrill pitch and she quickly regained composure.   
  
"Look, does she gotta spell it out for ya'?" Jean's head whipped around to see Logan. She hadn't noticed him lurking in the foyer shadows upon her arrival, a fact that produced a bitter self-chastisement. "She couldn't tell anyone, not even Chuck. That's why it's call un-der-cov-er." He annunciated each syllable as if she were a child. Her eyes blazed an angry blue; he met her gaze unflinchingly.   
  
"Hey, lay off." Scott snapped, taking a small unconscious step in front of Jean and closer to Logan. The Canadian straightened at this, taking his own step forward.  
  
Who the fuck does this kid think he is?  
  
The group hushed as a silent but brief tension built between the two men until Ororo, Warren, and Bobby appeared from the second flight of stairs on the other side of the foyer.  
  
Bobby rubbed bleary eyes. "What the...?"  
  
Rogue sighed at the sky. "Perfect. Now the whole gang can be heuh for such a special occasion. Who brought charades?"   
  
"What is going on here?" Ororo asked, her voice mixing stern and serene in a combination thought impossible until one actually heard it.  
  
Scott broke eye contact with Wolverine to explain. "Until the professor returns, I'm in charge and my orders are that she's free to stay until he returns, and then he'll decide if he wishes her to remain under his roof."  
  
"Well now that you've said that I don't feel so bad about telling you that," he wrapped an arm around Rogue's shoulder and removed his cigar from his mouth with his other hand, "I'm with her."  
  
A fresh batch of hysterics hatched.   
  
"What the hell?"  
  
"Who do you think you are coming into this pla-"  
  
"How did you get past Charl-"  
  
"The nerve of you slithering under our noses like a snake!" Scott was face to face with Wolverine now.   
  
Logan removed his arm from Rogue, who was currently holding her own against the Cajun, to jab a finger in Scott's direction warningly, spouting his own string of curse words, obscenities, and anything else he happened to think of.  
  
Ororo stood inches apart from the quarrelling group, finally having pieced together the situation. "Silence," she said once, and they were. Perhaps thanks to the wicked bolt of lightening streaking across the calm summer sky as she said it.  
  
Warren looked up at her from behind his brother Bobby whom he was helping pry Gambit away from an outnumbered Rogue.  
  
"It seems to me," she said slowly, "that we are missing the point entirely. There is a murderer among us."  
  
A silence swallowed them and suddenly weary eyes glanced over one another's neighbor.   
  
"Well can't Jean just take a run through our heads and see who the killer is?" Bobby piped.  
  
"How do we know she's not the killer?" Wanda's voice was tight and Jean shot her a disgusted look.  
  
"How do we know YOU'RE not, princess?" Jean sneered. "Besides, Bobby, I'm not experienced enough to do something like that, not without Xavier's assistance anyway."   
  
"Yeah, and I don't t'ink I want an amateur poking around in dere," Remy tapped his forehead. "No offense, chere." He held his hands up in defense.  
  
"None taken," Jean replied.  
  
  
Scott's voice broke the silence in a collected, professional tone he worked hard at perfecting for just such a moment. "Alright, team, get some sleep and we'll sort this out in the morning."  
  
"Oh, I'm gonna have a peachy night's sleep, now." Bobby huffed.   
  
The crowd dispersed, albeit apprehensive and not without a few backward glances. Suddenly, it was important who went where. After little small talk and brisk 'good-nights', everyone finally settled into their individual rooms to attempt a night's sleep.  
  
**  
  
Scott stripped down to boxers and settled into bed beside his wife. He draped an arm across her thin stomach, which she brusquely removed with one agitated jerk.  
  
Scott gaped at her, his eyebrows knitted. "What's your problem?"  
  
Wanda's eyes flashed angry. "What's my problem? Don't play stupid with me, you sniveling bastard. You know exactly what my problem is!"  
  
Scott sat up, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Wanda, I'm tired. Let's not play guessing games. Just tell me what the hell your problem is so we can get some sleep, alright?" Though he had a pretty good idea why his wife was angry. He saw this argument brewing in her pretty brown eyes when he defended Jean against Logan, perhaps a bit overzealously.   
  
"My problem? My problem!" Her voice rose and she stood, hurling a pillow at him. He caught it and stood as well so the bed separated them, clutching the cream-colored down pillow between his massive hands. "My problem has red hair!" She shouted now. "And so do your fantasies, don't they Scott Summers? I ought to march right down there and tell that li'l redheaded hussy just how I feel."  
  
"Wanda!" Scott blurted. "My God, you're overreacting. Calm down."  
  
"I'll calm down when I want to calm down. You can go to hell!"  
  
He gripped the pillow tighter and spoke in a forced tone through clenched teeth. "Now isn't the time, Wanda. We have a real problem here. There is a murderer in the mansion, do you understand?"  
  
"Oh, now it's a murderer. Before, my father was the problem, now it's this Heartbreaker fellow. It's not like you to turn a blind eye but you're avoiding OUR problem, Scott."  
  
"There is no "Our" problem! It's your problem! And if you want to blame someone for the scene your father caused, you can get on the phone right now, Wanda, and tell that piece of shit how you feel, because it was HIS problem, no one else's." Scott fought for control but she was tugging at his limits.   
  
"And that slut, Jean Grey? Whose problem is that?"  
  
"Shut-up." She decided he was rolling his eyes. "I have bigger things to concentrate on right now than your exaggerated jealousies. Go to bed, for God's sake."  
  
She pursed her lips defiantly. "Fuck you, Scott," she spat and flopped down on their bed. She tossed a moment before slamming off the light at her bedside.   
  
He sighed and climbed in beside her, their backs to each other as they slept.  
  
  
**  
  
Three days passed and the team was forced to fall into a new routine. Instead of coming and going whenever they felt like it, Rogue, Logan, and even Scott preferred that everyone notify at least one other person where they were going so that there was no suspicion.  
  
Things were tense around the mansion, so Wolverine threw on his jacket and threw open the door, the night wind catching him in the face. He inhaled deeply, caught sight of his bike, slightly older than the Cajun's, and proceeded to at least one night of freedom, perhaps go to Harry's and pick up whatever was available- blonde or brunette, it didn't matter tonight.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
Logan stopped and spun on his heel, having caught his scent before he even spoke. "Out. You have some sort of problem with that, Summers?"  
  
Scott folded his arms across his chest. "Maybe. I thought the rule was we tell someone where we're going."  
  
Logan cocked his head, opening his jacket to reveal the large silver badge pinned inside. "I'm the cop. I'm LOOKING for the bad guy, remember?" His tone was patronizing.  
  
Scott's jaw clenched. "Yes, but that badge doesn't automatically rule you out. It could be any one of us. Even you." His words hung in the air between them. Finally Logan narrowed his eyes and backed away.  
  
"Alright. Then I'm going to Harry's, okay? Do you feel better, Cyclops?"  
  
He nodded. "Yeah. I do. Have a good time." He slammed the door shut.  
  
"Dick." Wolverine mumbled, swinging his leg over his bike and speeding away. 'Nothing like a roaring engine between your legs, canucklehead.'  
  
  
**  
  
The next morning, Jean rose early to indulge in a morning jog. It was better this early, that way she didn't have to bother with the hassle of telling someone, just scrawl a quick note and post it somewhere noticeable. Today, it was the fridge, and while she was there, she prepared a bottle of water.   
  
"Going for a run?" Scott sat at the kitchen table. Jean gasped, spinning and wishing for a moment that she had some control of her telepathy. If she did, she could use it for little things like sensing others mind patterns, but she chose to keep it locked tightly in her head for fear of the overwhelming voices.   
  
"Yeah," she replied finally.  
  
"Didn't mean to scare you," he said, turning a page in the New York Times.  
  
She shrugged. "You an early bird too, huh?" She wasn't really, but she didn't want him to ask questions.  
  
He nodded. "Guilty as charged. One of the quirks Wanda has learned to live with. She can sleep until noon if you let her."  
  
Jean laughed and Scott set down the paper to look at her. "Where you running?"  
  
"Oh I don't know, just around the lake, I guess." She finished her juice.   
  
Scott cleared his throat. "I spoke with Wanda about her father." He said finally. He didn't know why, but he felt he just had to tell her. He wanted Jean to know that he did it, maybe for her.  
  
She smiled pleasantly. "Good! What'd she say?"  
  
"We're in a fight, actually." He conveniently left out the part about her. "But it'll be okay. She asked me to rub her back last night so I guess you could say we're talking again, but I think she's still mad at me."  
  
Jean shook her head, telekinetically washing her glass out while she tied her sneakers. "Let her be, she'll get over it. She's wrong and she knows it. She has to know it."  
  
"I hope you're right."  
  
"I'm always right. Sometimes." She grinned and slipped out the French doors. He watched her stroll to the edge of the walkway and tore himself from the sight. His fight with Wanda last night had made him angry, but running into the object of that fight this morning simply made him feel guilt, because he knew there was some truth to his wife's arguments.  
  
Jean took long, deep breaths and swiped some sweat from her brow. The forest echoed with her haggard panting and the snaps of twigs under her feet. She remembered why she liked running. It cleared her mind and it made her body burn and her chest ache; she loved it.  
  
Suddenly, a large hand clamped over her mouth and a body threw itself at her from behind, sending her tumbling face first into the dirt. She screeched under his hand and clawed at his arm.   
  
"Stop it," he hissed. "Stop it!" His mouth was close to her ear and he was covering her small frame with his own massive body. She struggled for air and attempted to wrench from his grasp. She lied still while he whispered in her ear. "I'm going to let you go, and if you scream, I swear to God I'll kill you right here. Understand?" He jerked her head and she nodded slowly. The attacker noticed her expression was solemn and not full of the usual fear in his victim's eyes.Tentatively, he released her mouth and moved off of her, his pelvis rubbing harder than needed against the back of her thighs as he rose to a kneeling position.  
  
Jean did a sudden pushup and was on her feet before he could make a clumsy stab at her with his knife. She kicked him once hard in the face and he fell on his back into a pile of dry leaves and dirt. She moved to where he lay and ground her foot onto his hand, his fingers releasing the knife in pain. He wailed and she kicked his head again.  
  
"Shut-up," she said, taking a seat on his stomach and twirling the knife in her hands. She nestled it into the folds of his neck. "Who... the fuck... are you?"  
  
He spat in her face and she stabbed the knife in his leg. "Ahhh!" He yelped. "Bitch!"  
  
She held the knife in his thigh. "Wipe. It. Off."   
  
She fumbled into his pockets and retrieved a handkerchief. With trembling hands he wiped her face clean. "Apologize."  
  
"I'm sorry."   
  
"I won't ask you again."  
  
He held his hands up. "I'm nobody. I just came to rob the pl... Ahhh!" She twisted the knife in his leg. "Alright, alright! I'm here to deliver a message."   
  
Jean stood. "So speak."  
  
"No way, lady." The guy became brave now that Jean wasn't sitting on him.  
  
Jean perked an eyebrow. "Really? Why?"  
  
He sighed, defeated anyway. "My message is for a man you'll never know the likes of. He's killed more people, made more money, seen more things in his life than you could ever dream about," he stated. "That bastard's a legend."  
  
Jean's eyes narrowed. "Who is he?"  
  
The man was silent. Jean leaped on him again and clutched his chin, holding the knife dangerously close to his fat face. "I'll cut your tongue out, you son of a bitch, now who is he?"  
  
"The Heartbreaker! Heartbreaker," he said, scared again. This bitch was crazy! "Look lady, I don't know him, honest. I'm supposed to meet him here in about ten minutes; you can bust his ass then, alright?"  
  
Jean stood again, this time kicking dirt in the man's face. "You squealing bastard. I can't believe Julius would send a rat like you that would sing like a canary just because of what? A little knife wound in the leg? You're gonna tell me what you know and then you're gonna get out of my sight, because you disgust me."  
  
The man's eyes became big. "You... You're Heartbreaker? Oh my God. Oh my God!" He scrambled to his knees and hovered over her feet. "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, boss. I didn't know. I don't know nuthin'. I'm stupid."  
  
Jean rolled her eyes. "Speak!"  
  
"Right, right. Okay, uh, God, I'm so nervous. Um, okay. Julius told me to tell him... I mean you, that there's a cop! That's right! There's a cop in the joint so bail out!"  
  
Jean couldn't help but smirk, if not bitterly. "My God, tell Julius he's got his sources fucked up and that he's late. I already know that."  
  
"Well, what are you gonna do, boss? I mean, you can't stay."  
  
"Hey!" Jean snapped. "I don't need some amateur bastard like you telling me what I can't do, you understand? Go back and tell him what I just told you, and if he wants to send me a message again, he better find someone better than a fucking idiot like you. In the meantime, I ain't running anywhere. Got it? Now get the hell out of my way."  
  
The man moved and Jean continued her jog. She heard him make way in his own direction behind her. She felt a little guilty, being so cruel toward the guy and all, but her father Bugsy always told her that he never got anywhere being pansy-ass nice. He always said, "Jeannie girl, you're going to be a real heartbreaker when you grow up, and if you remember nothing else, remember this: men won't respect you unless you make them respect you. You gotta slap 'em around a li'l, baby doll. Make them listen."  
  
He was killed just three months after he said that. She was eleven. Jean was an only child, so Bugsy Malone's entire underground empire lied with her after his death, with his best friend Julius helping her out until she was old enough to head the organization by herself. She didn't want it. She never wanted it. But before she gave it all up, she took the matter of her father's murder in her own hands. Three years ago, she had her people discover his killer; it was a man named Frankie Gestessi. Since then, she hunted his entire family down and pulled the trigger on them. His son Caleb was the last to go after his three brothers, all too affiliated with the mafia. Caleb had followed his father's footsteps between the years 1998-2000 until he decided he had a conscience and gave up the gangster life for a New York penthouse.   
  
Jean had made damn well sure Frankie was left with just as much family as she was: none. After she robbed Gestessi of his family, all the while making a name for herself in the underground, Jean decided it was time she retire. She was vengeful, but she was no murderer. She decided Xavier's school was the perfect place to lay low until things blew over. Apparently she was wrong. Xavier's place was poisoned with two cops.  
  
She contemplated running, but then they'd know it was her and Rogue would simply follow her down until she killed her- revenge was cruel like that.  
  
So she would wait it out and see what happened. The only way she'd be discovered is if Xavier pried it from her head, and even then perhaps she could explain her situation to them. Rogue surely wouldn't be all ears, but maybe she could get some of the others to see her point of view. 'Just don't get caught,' Jean decided. 'You don't get caught and you won't have to explain anything to anyone.'  
  
  
  
  
A/N  
I know I promised that we'd discover Remy's lil secret in this chapter, but I decided this was enough to swallow for now, and don't worry, the next chapter is already half-way done so the wait will be nearly nothing and you'll definitely find out his secret in that one. Promise! REVIEW! REVIEW!  
  
IMPORTANT!  
Read these lyrics and tell me if I should write a fic about them centered around Remy. The song's called "House of the Rising Sun," by the Animals and when I heard it I immediately started scribbling down an outline for a story. It just inspired me! It was released in the sixties and it's a simply awesome song...  
  
  
There is a house in New Orleans  
They call The Rising Sun  
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy  
And God, I know, I'm one  
  
My mother was a tailor  
She sewed my new blue jeans  
My father was a gambling man   
Down in New Orleans  
  
Now the only thing a gambler needs  
Is a suitcase and a trunk  
And the only time he's satisfied  
Is when he's on a drug  
  
O mothers, tell your children  
Not to do what I have done  
Spend your life in sin and misery   
In the House of the Rising Sun  
  
Well, got one foot on the platform  
The other foot on the train  
I'm going back to New Orleans  
To wear that ball and chain  
  
Well there is a house in New Orleans  
They call The Rising Sun  
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy  
And God... I know... I'm one.  
  
  
  
You've just got to hear the song; it's great. I'd obviously make Remy the main character and the house would be associated with Rogue and I'd throw my favorite couple Jean/Scott I there somewhere. Should I? 


	7. Pomp and Circumstance

Jean swallowed.  
  
She swallowed, and swallowed again thirty seconds later. This was to be her routine for another nine minutes. She gripped the gin glass and brought it shakily to her peach lips. The smell was beginning to make her sick.  
  
"Ugh, I can't!" She pursed her lips, disgusted.  
  
"No way," Bobby protested. "The dare was one sip every thirty seconds for fifteen minutes."  
  
Jean's face hinted at a peculiar shade of mint. "Oh God," she moaned, swallowing once again.  
  
"Alright," Warren said, turning back to the group. Ororo, Remy, his brother Bobby, and the unfortunate Jean met his gaze. "Truth or dare... Bobby."  
  
Bobby stiffened. "Gee, Warren, truth I suppose, considering the last time I chose dare with you was in the tenth grade and you made me streak across the courthouse lawn!"   
  
"Settle," Warren said flippantly, sipping his own drink. He tapped his watch and winked at Jean. She rolled her eyes and tipped her own glass for another excruciating sip. "Truth, huh? Hmm, let's see." He pinched his chin. "Truthfully, where did you lose your virginity?"  
  
Bobby paled. "Uh, Warren, I thought we'd never discuss that again for the rest of our lives." He mumbled through gritted teeth.  
  
Ororo's eyebrows perked in interest. "Do tell."  
  
The youngest Worthington sighed, defeated. "Alright, alright. God." He sighed. "Well, there we were, in my personal hot tub, the bubbles were floating, the champagne was flowing-"  
  
"The truth, Bobby."  
  
Bobby shot Warren a pained look. "Aw c'mon!" Warren's glare was icy. "Alright, for God's sake!" He cleared his throat. "I was kind of on the school tennis team, and it was sort of Co-Ed and everything. Well one night, me and this girl were putting the rackets and everything away and well... one thing led to another."  
  
"And I'm ashamed to say my brother was robbed of his innocence in a smelly, ratty old equipment room, the poor girl probably experiencing her first orgasm with the long end of a racket gouging into her hip." Warren shook his head sadly.  
  
Bobby jerked his chin defiantly. "Next!" He barked, and eyed the room suspiciously. Who would be his first victim? Who had the fattest story to tell? Warren, no way. He had as much story as a piece of toast. Jean, maybe but it wasn't likely- just your typical daddy's girl. Besides, she was becoming too smashed to tell up from down. Storm definitely had some points of interest, but Bobby didn't want to risk striking a nerve and then getting hell beat out of him by his brother, who no matter what he said had a thing for that woman.   
  
That left, "Gambit!"  
  
Remy, who was stretched on the length of the couch, looked up from his bowed position and pegged daring eyes on Bobby. "Yeah?"  
  
Bobby hesitated. "Truth or Dare."  
  
Remy clenched his teeth. "Truth."  
  
A silent gasp permeated the room. Remy and truth didn't belong in the same room, let alone in the same sentence. Bobby was prepared, though. "What did you do before the X-Men?"  
  
Silence surrounded every occupant of the room, even Jean who suddenly became sober with her hiccups coming to an abrupt end. The grandfather clock in the corner shot off bellowing ticks that echoed through the eerie quiet like a piercing scream in the middle of space.   
  
He sat up. "It isn't nice." He warned.  
  
They nodded their heads collectively. "We've all done some things we are not proud of."   
  
Remy nodded to Ororo and she simply smiled back, a smile possessing that gloomy beautiful only few can perfect. He continued. "I was poor six years ago. I'm twenty-seven, now, so you do de math." He lit a cigarette for whatever purpose. "When you're poor, you'll do anyt'ing for money, understand." Ororo nodded, a swell of respect growing in her for this man. "I hate myself for what I did, but I can't change it, I know. You see," he shifted, "in New Orleans, there are women. Lots of women that are willing to do t'ings- anyt'ing for food and a place to sleep."  
  
He exhaled a tail of smoke that clouded his eyes. "Dat's what I did. I offered dem clothes on deir backs and food in deir bellies for... certain services."  
  
Ororo's eyes flashed, all respect swallowed with a horrifying shock. She stared, jaw agape and speechless for a moment. "You were a pimp," came her words slow and knowing.  
  
He met her eyes. "I was a monster. But I was also starving."  
  
Her perfect jaw clenched. In one swift movement, she shot from the couch and stormed out of the room, rain pelting the rooftops and replacing the previous glorious summer day.  
  
  
  
  
Scott stood before the round briefing table, Wanda seated at his right. Logan and Rogue sat on opposite ends, listening to him with more attentiveness than they led on. "I contacted Xavier this morning... finally," Scott added dryly. "He's extremely perturbed with the idea of his house harboring a murderer, and has allowed you to stay as long as you'd like. He'd like very much to return home immediately, but circumstances insist he stay for at least one more day. He sends his regards and hopes-"  
  
The briefing room door burst open, accompanied by a chilling gust of wind.  
  
All turned to behold the furious Storm approach, eyes white as a celestial abyss. "Did he know?" Scott confronted her, concerned for his teammate.  
  
"Did who know what, Ororo?"  
  
"Did Xavier know what Remy was before he invited him into his home?" A silent beat and exchanged looks. "Did he!"   
  
Wanda shivered and rubbed her arms. "What are you talking about?" She demanded behind Scott.   
  
The wind subsided and Ororo's frame relaxed. Wordlessly, she spun on her heel and stalked out the door, her snowy hair waving like an angry banner behind her.  
  
  
**  
  
Bobby held his five fanned cards with two shaky hands. He peered over his two Aces, two fours, and one three at Logan, who took a quick swig of his beer.  
  
"Okay, um, what do ya' got?" Bobby called across the small round table. Logan's eyes met him through the thick hazy cloud of smoke escaping his cigar tip and hovering over the table.   
  
"Aren't you gonna bid?"  
  
Bobby smacked his forehead. "Oh yeah! Whoops. Um, here," he proceeded to shove half of his pile into the center. "That much. I'd say it's about... forty bucks."  
  
Logan smirked. He wouldn't feel half bad about robbing this kid.  
  
The door to the Rec. Room flew open to herald an angel. Warren stalked to the center of the room, his eyes wild. "Bobby! Have you seen Ororo anywhere? I've checked all over!"  
  
Bobby averted his eyes from his hand for a moment to glance at his Rolex. "Warren, it's one in the morning, and it's pouring outside. Get to sleep, get some food, do something but go away, 'cause I'm about two seconds away from making my move." He squirmed anxiously in his chair.  
  
Warren glanced idly at his brother's cards and scoffed. "Seriously, Bobby. Have you seen her? I went to her room but she wasn't there. I know she didn't leave though."  
  
Logan spoke. "How do you know that?"  
  
His voice was nearly frantic as he turned to regard Wolverine. "Because, nothing's missing except her shoes."  
  
Logan shrugged. "Sometimes that's all you need."  
  
Warren stood, dumbfounded for a moment, then darted back out the door. He hustled to his car, ignoring the chubby raindrops splashing on his face and matting his blonde hair. He fired the engine and left nothing but the light cast from his taillights as he charged head-on into the night.  
  
  
**  
  
Behind the mansion was a garden beyond comparison. When Rogue asked him once, Xavier confessed that after he lost the use of his legs he never hired anybody to care for it in his stead, so it grew wild. It was simply magnificent, with tiny vines that slithered across the thick grass and around the legs of the stone benches and tangled flowers hanging loose on the gates or still blooming in dainty rows across the brown earth. Ororo, the green thumb of the household, had decided to begin another garden behind another wing of the mansion so beautiful was this plot of land untouched. It echoed with the abstract sound of joy and peace and the water that once ran through the stone fountains with sad-faced cherubs looming over them like guardians against any evil that dare enter the premises.  
  
The small sentinels performed their job well, for no evil lurked in the garden, only heaven.  
  
Rogue was currently relaxing in one of the several fountains that had been left to run dry, her head tipped back against a lovely little stone girl spurting invisible water from her round cheeks.  
  
The southern native sighed and lolled her head listlessly. The summer heat made a slick blanket of perspiration on her milky skin and her eyelids grew heavy under the sun's persuasion.  
  
She let her mind wander. Where was she when Ororo left? Reading in her room. Damn. And when Warren left? Asleep, like the rest of the sane world. Now he was on a wild goose chase because Rogue knew, she just knew, that a woman like Ororo would never come back. Women like Ororo just arrive, love, and leave, a trail of broken hearts and even the most powerful become sorrow-stricken men falling to their knees with their heads in her lap and begging her to stay, that he'll take care of her 'til the day he's buried in the ground, that he'll love her forever. The last part is true- he will love her forever, but Ororo doesn't need a man to take care of her. She's as beautiful as a star plucked from heaven and as strong as the fiercest winds.   
  
Rogue slightly pitied Warren. Poor boy had just never met a woman like her. She wasn't an Ivy League princess spoon fed the world in moderate proportions. Maybe he should take a notice at Jean.  
  
Rogue shook her head. No, that wasn't fair. Jean had never done anything to make the professional secret agent dislike her. But all the same, something about the wide-eyed, naïve baby girl put Rogue on edge. Sort of the way Wanda did. But Wanda was different entirely. She flaunted her money where Jean gave subtle, silent clues that yeah, maybe she could afford some nice things in her life. Rogue once thought Wanda and Jean were very similar indeed, but soon discovered that instead of naïve and dreamy, Wanda was simply spoiled and childish, her father's bank accounts acting as a protective shield between her and the real world.  
  
"Is dis private time, or can I interrupt?"  
  
"You've got some nerve, showin' up heuh." Rogue said shortly.  
  
Remy nodded. "Dat's very true, but I live dangerously."  
  
She opened her eyes finally and gave him a brief glance over. He stood his ground, hands stuffed in his jean pockets. His shoulders slumped. "Look, chere... Rogue. I'm sorry about all dis shit. I'm a hypocrite, I know. I hated it when you didn't tell me about bein' a cop, but I was an ass when I didn't tell you about de t'ings I did in de past."  
  
Rogue nodded slowly. "I won't say it's alraght, because it's not yet, but soon."   
  
He perched on the edge of her fountain, turning uncomfortably to hold eye contact. "So now you know where I learned literature."  
  
Rogue's eyebrows rose over closed eyes. "Hmm, how is that?"  
  
He folded his legs on the stone edge. "I had a girl," he smiled musingly, "Marigold. She was a nice little t'ing," his eyes fell and his voice was solemn, "I hated having to work her, but she didn't let it bot'er her. She just held her head high and came back in de morning with enough cash to feed her." He sighed. "She was a literature buff but she couldn't afford college; we got to talking one day and over the next three years she taught me a hell of a lot more than I ever taught her dat's for sure." He smiled bitterly. "Dat girl was going places. Damn, she was such a better person dan I was. De only person dat could make me love and hate myself at de same time."   
  
Rogue was silent, letting Remy slip from his reverie. "It's getting' a lil cold. I'm goin' in." He rose slowly but before disappearing behind a wall of wax-green hanging ivy he turned as if deciding on something and said, " 'O! Would that we were lying side by side in the same grave, hand in hand, and from time to time, in the darkness, gently caressing a finger-that would suffice for my eternity!'" He paused. "Victor Hugo."  
  
Rogue bit her lip.  
  
  
**  
  
Jean's cheeks expanded as she blew a gust of breath onto the tiny flickering candle nestled into the chocolate frosting of the large cupcake. A tendril of smoke rose from where the extinguished flame existed.  
  
Approaching footsteps prompted her to hide the cupcake in a secure cubby under the coffee table at her knees.  
  
Scott appeared at the door. He grinned upon seeing her. "Oh hi!" He made his way to the coffee table on the far side of the room and retrieved a magazine. He stopped and tilted his head to the air. "Do you smel-"  
  
"Smell what?" Jean replied quickly. Scott was no fool.  
  
He eyed her suspiciously and neared her. His nose followed the scent of burnt wick and he discovered her treasure under the table. He held it. "What... is this?" He grinned.  
  
She snatched it. "It's mine, that's what it is." She proceeded to pluck the candle from the center and toss it on the coffee table, plunging her teeth into the sweet treat. He looked on amused and she swallowed. "It's my birthday." She said finally.  
  
"Ah," he said, nodding. "Well happy birthday! How many is it now? Forty-one, forty-two?"  
  
"Ha ha," she muttered and took another bite. "What's the scoop on 'Ro?"  
  
"We're not really sure. Warren just called and said he's pretty sure he's narrowed down the manhunt to a small town just about forty miles north of here. He's going to go and check it out."  
  
"Riveting," Jean said, swallowing the last of her cupcake. He suppressed a smile at the smeared chocolate on the corner of her mouth. "What?" Jean asked.  
  
His lips curved and he moved to wipe it off. Jean nearly shuddered at the feel of his rough thumb brushing against her moist lips. She looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.   
  
He swallowed, her mouth velvety under his touch. The gap between them miraculously disappeared and Scott's mind flooded with thoughts of pressing his eager mouth hard against hers and then taking her right there on the library couch. He was swallowed by the sinful impulse to hear her moan his name under him.   
  
Before reality kicked him in the face, their mouths were barely brushing and she sighed when he placed a tentative hand on her hip. The sweet contact of her breath on his parted lips wrenched him from blissful abandon and he snapped back.  
  
Jerking away, he mumbled something she couldn't make out. "What?" She repeated.  
  
"I can't!" He said frantically, his wedding vows ringing loud in his ears. He was back beside her but this time to stare her in the eye and speak flatly. "We can't. I'm married and don't get me wrong! You're beautiful, but this could never happen. Not ever." He muttered it again, but this time obviously to himself and then turned to leave. Jean fell back onto the couch.   
  
Damnit! She knew, she knew all along! He was married; he'd always been married. What made her think she could just erase that little triviality? No matter. She wasn't here to fall in... lust. In fact, that was the last thing she would do if she were smart, but hearts have an ethical code all their own. Jean laughed at a sour irony. It was a good thing she didn't love Scott, because if she DID love him, which she definitely did NOT, then he would have just broken her heart and that would be too funny not to smile at: the Heartbreaker getting her own heart broken. So it was a good thing she didn't love Scott and an even better thing he didn't love her. A very good thing.   
  
  
**  
  
Rogue toweled her russet colored locks vigorously. Clad in a bathrobe, she exited her bathroom and tossed the wet towel onto her bed. Idly, she noticed something she didn't remember being there before she showered. Nudging the towel aside, she saw the green cover of what appeared to be a book. She picked it up. It was indeed a book: Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. Smiling in curious awe, she opened the cover and a slip of paper fell out.   
  
Thought you might like it. I love it.  
~Remy  
  
  
Rogue laughed out loud, tapping the piece of paper on the book thoughtfully.   
  
She knocked on Remy's door. He opened it and leaned into the doorframe. "Yes?" He grinned impishly. She held the book up.  
  
"Ah gotta know. Whatevah happened to that girl?"  
  
"Marigold?"  
  
"Yeah, her." Rogue clarified.  
  
Remy blinked. Was she actually giving him a chance at forgiveness? He kind of hoped so. "I donated a portion of my weekly profits to send her to school myself. I stayed in de business until she graduated and den I left."  
  
"Where is she now?" Rogue asked quietly.  
  
He shrugged. "Couldn't tell you, chere. I haven't spoken to anyone from that part of my life since I left. I don't t'ink I could ever face her again. I doubt she'd want to see how her old pimp was holding up." He looked away, more than a little embarrassed and ashamed.   
  
Rogue admired this man at that moment, and she didn't know if that thrilled or scared her more.   
  
  
  
  
  
~AUTHOR'S Endless Input~  
  
Thanks to all you that review. You guys are so awesome! Every single review is good to have and I cherish it so much. I know a lot of you were surprised with Jean being the Heartbreaker; I wanted to make it subtle but not obscure. I'm thrilled that you guys like the idea of making the Animals song into a story. I love the storyline I've created for it; I just hope I'll be able to pull it off, but with your guys' wonderful encouragement I know I'll never be led in the wrong direction.   
  
Once again, please, please REVIEW! It means the world to me and I really appreciate it.   
  
SORRY this chapter is short but another one is in the works. I wanted to end it here thought because I can't really break up the next segment anywhere and it's kind of long. 


	8. Gold Dust Woman

He was a crystal rose amidst a sea of rubble and mud. Warren lifted a wheat-colored eyebrow and combed the bar with a fastidious eye. Burly men sat in small booths, most crowded around the jukebox or at the pool tables. A honky-tonk favorite bounced off of the bar walls, Lynyrd Skynrd, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Rolling Stones or the like.   
  
Some men turned to notice Warren. "Well ain't he just the shit, Bud?"  
  
But most didn't bother, being too occupied with stuffing problems down their long-necked bottles or hitting on the red lip-sticked, teased blonde banged women lining the barstools.   
  
The drive over gave the billionaire playboy a lot of time to ponder his current predicament. He felt something for Ororo that ran deeper than he'd like to admit, that was certain, but Warren was a businessman; he didn't rush head on into anything without weighing every pro and con. So all right, pros: she's intelligent, enthralling, sophisticated, spirited, and oh-God-so-beautiful. Cons: She'd break his heart without a second thought. Damn.   
  
Was she here? He highly doubted it, but she was certainly in this particular town and process of elimination demanded she be here.  
  
And there she certainly was, sitting in the corner booth, sipping cherry cola and warding off the few and the brave that dared trespass her territory to ask if she perhaps wanted a drink, dinner and a movie, a man to worship her for the rest of her life. She politely dismissed them all.  
  
Warren slid into the seat across from her and immediately flagged down a waitress and ordered a gin and tonic to avoid meeting her eyes for a few transitory seconds. She stabbed her straw into her cola before taking a long sip. "Can I help you?"  
  
He glanced around the bar again. "You're the one that chose to spend her Saturday evening in this rat hole. Can I help YOU?"  
  
She snorted, delicately even, Warren noted. "Alright." An amused pause. "So what are YOU doing here?"  
  
He leaned forward. "I don't know." He chuckled sourly. "I really don't. I don't think I'm in love with you, but I don't know anything except numbers, profits, and what red and black coded stock market tips are."   
  
Ororo grinned.   
  
"Anyway," he continued, "I'm here to offer you the chance of a lifetime. I'm good at making offers."  
  
She lifted a platinum eyebrow. "I'm listening."  
  
"Come back. The X-Men really need you. And I'm beginning to grow quite fond of the way your corridor always smells like vanilla and storms, and the way there's always vegetarian burgers in the freezer, and your clothes billowing on the clothesline because you're the only woman I know that refuses to use a dryer, opting instead for the fresh spring air--even in the middle of February."  
  
Ororo laughed. "True, true." Warren snaked his hand over hers on the table.   
  
"We all know I'm Warren Worthington III, boy billionaire." She rolled her eyes and he grinned. "I get whatever I want. And right now I want to see if there's anything going on here," he gestured at the air between them. "I'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth until I find an answer to that question that satisfies me." Ororo's eyes brightened to an alluring shade of azure. "I won't beg... because you don't want a man that will fall at your feet, you want one that will stand by your side."  
  
"Do you think you can do that?" She finally said, her voice masking the emotion running thick in her throat.   
  
"I'd sure as hell love to give it a shot." He smiled impishly. "It doesn't have to be fairy tale romance; we're not going to fall in each other's arms and ride off in a white carriage. We'll take it a few steps at a time. If we like it we'll move forward. If we don't we'll leave things whatever." He shrugged, keeping his movements casual and flippant.  
  
She was silent for a moment, stirring her soda with her straw. Now here was a proposition she could live with. This guy wouldn't snap a ball and chain on her the minute she agreed to a date. " 'Whatever' sounds perfect, Mr. Worthington." She sighed. "What the hell. Besides, I left a fabulous pair of Manganno boots back at the mansion that I just can't live without."  
  
  
**  
  
  
"Well I'll be damned," Rogue muttered. "She came back."   
  
Ororo looked up from her book of poetry. "Hello Rogue."  
  
The southern pistol sauntered into the weather-witch's room, pausing to stare into her fireplace. "So what brings you back to our humble abode?"  
  
"Nothing in particular, necessarily." Ororo set her book down on the bed.   
  
"Alraght, who brought you back? No wait; don't tell me. Warren. Am Ah raght or am Ah raght?"   
  
"You're... incorrigible." Ororo smiled.  
  
Rogue's face became solemn and she took a seat at Ororo's cherry wood vanity. "Why'd you run, girl?"  
  
Ororo sighed. "Nothing worth psychoanalyzing."  
  
"Honey, Ah'm from Mississippi. We don't psychoanalyze shit."  
  
"Your close with Remy, are you not?" Ororo leaned back on one hand on her bed.  
  
"Yeah, but that has nothing to do with what we discuss. If you want to talk, talk. I won't rush right off to Remy and 'spill', is that's what you think."  
  
"You're right, friend, I'm sorry. Please don't think I was trying to be disrespectful."  
  
Rogue flipped her hand. "Fohget about it!"  
  
"I think it's pretty obvious why I left. I find it nearly impossible to live with a man I have no respect for and I certainly no longer respect Remy." Ororo traced a pattern sewn onto her comforter with a manicured fingernail.  
  
"Yes, but why?" Rogue asked, tentatively trying her best not to seem too nosy.  
  
Ororo shook her head, errant cloudy strands obscuring her eyes. "Let's just say that his business was similar to my business before I found... respectable means of making ends meet, except I was on the other end of the bargain."  
  
Rogue clasped a hand over her mouth and moved to sit beside Storm, wrapping a comforting arm around her slim shoulders. "Ah'm sorry, hon. Ah... am sorry."  
  
"It is alright. I don't wish to discuss the topic deeply, but I feel that I can trust you with this portion of my past, as I know you will not relay it to others and I thank you for that. However, I ask that you particularly never inform Remy of this, despite how you may think it will 'mend' our relationship. I need no one's pity and certainly not his," she finished in a dignified tone.  
  
Rogue nodded. "Whatevah you say, sugah."  
  
  
**  
  
Remy jotted a note in the margin, the deep red ink bleeding into the vanilla paper. The paperback was folded back in his hands and he sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, a glass of vodka-laced orange juice sitting abandoned at his elbow. He muttered his train of thought over in his head, mentally elaborating on the theme. 'God-damned Hemingway always makes you second guess.'  
  
He sipped his drink and promptly made a face concerning the warm, milky texture that soon followed. He stood and emptied the juice in the sink, setting the glass down and spinning to lean against the counter, his novel still clutched between two large hands.  
  
He clicked the pen with his thumb. Theme. Click. Desire. Click. Man's meaning. Click. Foreshadowing. Click. Flashback. Click. Click. Cli-  
  
"Jesus, can you give it a rest?"   
  
Remy's eyes rose to meet with Bobby's solid blue ones. "Problem, homme?"  
  
"Not really, but can you quit clicking?"  
  
Remy looked at the ballpoint as if it were the first time he'd seen it in his life. "Sorry. Didn't know you were in here." Click.  
  
Bobby clenched his teeth. "Whatever."  
  
Remy smirked. Click. "Sorry, it's a habit. I do it when I t'ink."  
  
"Then it can't be a habit you struggle with frequently."  
  
Remy whistled low. "Score one for Bobby. What are you waiting for? A prize or somet'ing?"  
  
Bobby turned from the sink to regard him fully now. "The only victory I'd be satisfied with is smearing that cocky grin of yours across the wall... homme." He spat the last word like venom.  
  
Remy straightened, his mind having long deserted the novel. "Anytime, kid."  
  
"Hello sugahs!" Both men melted considerably and plastered a smile on their faces for the approval of the intruding belle.  
  
"Hey chere."  
  
"Hi Rogue."  
  
"You wouldn't believe it, boys! There Ah was, just mindin' my own business, watchin' T.V. in my room when what should hit me? The munchies! Ah sweah, they're monstahs!" She giggled and neither man could refuse its particular charm.   
  
"Want me to fix you a li'l somet'ing?" Remy offered. Bobby rolled his eyes.  
  
"Um, no thanks, Ah think Chex Mix will get the job done foh now. Thanks boys!" And with that, she was gone.  
  
An uncomfortable silence settled over the two remaining men until Bobby coughed an excuse and disappeared the way Rogue had.  
  
Remy shifted against the corner. Too bad, boy. First come; first serve. He proceeded to Rogue's room.  
  
"Knock, knock." He poked his head around her door. She sat up on her bed and rolled the family-sized bag of Chex Mix and set it at her bedside. "Hey!" She said, brushing crumbs from her bare thighs and over her chest. "Come on in."  
  
Remy took in the sight of her long toned legs, barely covered with a pair of small white night-shorts and a matching tank complete with a tiny bow centered on the chest, her beautiful endowments nearly spilling from the bodice. His mouth nearly ran dry.   
  
He entered as she turned her television off, replacing it with a random C.D. in her stereo. She watched him take a seat at the foot of her bed with all the grace of a cat intertwined with the beauty of a sweet Adonis. A loose gray button-up with only few buttons fastened and the shirttail carelessly tugged from the waistband of dusty jeans fit him perfectly. Rogue shifted in her bed, her position suddenly transforming from friendly-comfortable to sensual-sexy.   
  
"What're you doing heuh, boy?"   
  
He lied across the length of the foot of her bed, his head propped in a hand supported by his elbow. "Did you talk to Stormy?"  
  
Rogue sighed. "Ah did. Things aren't looking too great for you at the moment, but Ah don't think it's entiahly hopeless. Just give her time."  
  
"She told you why she's so upset, didn't she?" He grabbed Rogue's foot and began performing slow ministrations on it.   
  
"So what if she did? Doesn't mean Ah'm gonna tell you a damned thing, so fohget about it. Augh, that feels good." She leaned back into her headboard.  
  
Remy smiled, pleased with his efforts. He worked his way to her ankle with both hands, loosening every possible muscle as she cooed and sighed in response to his fingers' dance.   
  
"Alright, I guess dat's fair. We don't have to talk about dat if you don't want to."   
  
"Thank you. Mah Gawd, Remy. This is positively sinful." She pressed her lips together when she felt his hands slide ever further up her leg, roaming across her calf and settling behind her knee. Her breath was low and staggered.  
  
He peered into her eyes. "You like dat, chere?" His voice was husky as she nodded. He ventured up a creamy thigh until one hand was brushing against the fabric over her crotch. His fingers manipulated the area until he felt the warmth and wetness radiating from between her legs. He looked up to see her head tipped back, elated silent gasps escaping her strawberry round mouth. Remy licked his lips in anticipation.  
  
Rogue could barely believe the affect he was gaining from her with a little playful pawing over her shorts. Her stomach knotted in wild expectancy at all he was capable of under her panties. She ran slim hands through his auburn tresses, sending spills down the Louisiana native's back. His other hand managed its way to her hip while his lips planted slow kisses on her neck.  
  
She curled a slender leg around him and urged him closer, which he happily obliged. Finally, their lips met, hungry and aching. He pressed her into the headboard with a flooding ardor that churned right at the pit of him. Her guttural moans and sparked cries devoured his senses, impelling him further.   
  
  
  
**  
  
Jeannie rolled over, the hard plastic of the booth-seat shifting under her 88 pounds. Her head lied situated on her father's thigh while he twirled spaghetti on his fork. The restaurant was dark, overwhelmingly dark, frighteningly dark. Things lurked in this kind of dark. Demons. Robbers.   
  
Her father hummed to her between mouthfuls, patting her head often and brushing blazing hair from her forehead. It was a sweet Italian tune complemented nicely with the shrieking violins not seven feet from Bugsy Malone's booth. He knew it was late; he should really get back and tuck his little girl in. He at least should have let Julius take her on home when he left, but he was starving and he wanted to spend a little bit of time with his baby.   
  
He looked down at her sleeping form, his lips twisting into a short smile. Hold-ups, employees, money handling-- he rarely had time to really appreciate his most precious ware. She looks just like her mother. Mother Mary, my little girl's going to be such a little heartbreaker when she grows up.   
  
His eleven-year-old redheaded girl blinked open bleary eyes and rubbed across the freckles on the bridge of her nose. "Hey punkin," Bugsy Malone said. And then he was shot twice in the chest.  
  
Jean went stiff, her eyes doubling in size while her heart pounded violently in her chest. Blood splattered onto her face and she looked up at her father's lifeless open eyes, his head lolled to one side and his body slumped.   
  
  
  
Jean bolted upright and swiped frantic hands over her face, her covers long cast onto the floor in a crumpled pile. She gasped once but immediately regained composure. She rushed to the bathroom, splashing ice-cool water onto her face to rid herself of invisible blood that wouldn't clean. Blood on her face.  
  
And blood on her hands.  
  
A sudden voice bellowed in her head and Jean yelped, jumping in front of the mirror.   
  
~Jean, it's Xavier~ He assured her, his voice taking a noticeably gentler tone.  
  
~I'm... I'm sorry Professor. I had a bad dream~  
  
~About your father?~  
  
Jean froze. Wait a minute- Xavier? Wasn't he away for a conference or something? She panicked. Oh God! He's home! He knows I'm the killer! He's prying in my head! Oh God!  
  
~Jean. Jean! Please keep calm. You have nothing to fear concerning anything, child. Please come see me in my office immediately~ A pause. ~And I assure you, you have no reason to run, but that's certainly a decision left in your capable hands~  
  
Jean was in his office within minutes of slipping on a pair of jeans and a cardigan. If she ran, she had an elite team of superheroes to track her. The odds were stacked, to say the least.  
  
"Please, come in." He wheeled form his position by the window to behind his desk. "We have much to discuss, so you may take a seat if you'd like."  
  
Jean accepted the offer and sat in one of the plush vacant seats, crossing her legs primly and keeping her head high and professional. She didn't know why, but she was very willing to listen to Xavier- perhaps because he made it an offer, not a command, and Jean was a businesswoman. She was all for offers.   
  
He stirred his tea but did not drink. Instead he sat, eyebrows furrowed in deep contemplation. "I've been running this institute to better the lives of mutants for nearly thirty years now. Only just recently did I make it a school, but nonetheless, it's been around for quite some time." She nodded, unsure what else to do. "And never, in all thirty years, have I ever broken rules or supported illegal doings for my own selfish purposes, except just this once." He extended a long index finger to color his point.   
  
"Let us say now that I am a telepath of the highest order and I would never allow anyone in my home without a thorough interrogation of their mind to assure that they are no harm to either me but especially my students." Jean braced herself and it smacked her right on the forehead. "I know you murdered Caleb Gestessi. Indeed, I have known but I feared that by telling you during your beginning months here, you would become afraid and flee without giving my school a chance. You are undoubtedly an alpha-class mutant and I want nothing more than for you to learn how to control your mutation in my household under my provision."  
  
"I understand," she said slowly, sensing there was more to be revealed.  
  
"I don't know if you knew this or not, Jean, but during their brief time in the mafia, Caleb and his four brothers were involved in the murder twenty-seven men, mostly in the neighborhoods of Harlem but some in the state of New Jersey, three in Chicago, even Los Angeles."  
  
Jean nodded, surely this time. "I know; I'm very familiar with their work. As are you, I see." She left her tone questioning. Xavier straightened in his wheelchair.  
  
"Jean, I..." he sighed and began again. "When you were four, your father brought you to me. He knew there was something... phenomenal about you. He insisted I perform a blood test." Xavier's eyes were wistful for a fleeting second. "You cried and cried. God, you hated needles, young lady."  
  
Jean narrowed her eyes. "What?"  
  
"The test only confirmed what we both knew: you were a mutant. He made me swear to look after you should anything ever happen to him. I assure you, had I known he'd died I would have dragged you out of that life in an instant. An underground hit man is no life for an eleven year old." Xavier shook his head. "But I had no idea. No one ever notified me of his death. But when I saw you enter through my mansion's doors two months ago, I knew then that it had been an act of God Himself to bring you back under my roof. And when I scanned you, you can imagine the shock I received upon learning that you had killed a man, prompting me to research the Gestessi family which is why I am so knowledgeable of their doings." He sipped slowly. "Since I know very well their chances of getting punished for their horrendous crimes, I allowed you in my home though I knew you had taken a life."  
  
"Four," Jean corrected.  
  
"Precisely, excuse me." He bowed his head. "I am hopeful that in my school you will learn the value of life and when the opportunity next presents itself, you will think twice about killing another."  
  
"Mmm," Jean smoothed back a coil of red that had tumbled before her eyes. "Let me get this straight, Professor Xavier. When I was just a kid, my dad brought me here and you determined that I was a mutant. He tells you to 'take me under your little wing' after he dies, which he does, when I'm eleven, but no one told you so I'm stuck with the velvet underground and my uncle Julius." Xavier nodded, confirming so far. "Then, by some 'miracle', I waltz through your door when you're assembling this team and you scan my head, discover that I've killed Caleb and his brothers, but accept my actions due to the fact that they themselves have killed several more than I in their careers as hit men." Jean took a deep breath, confusion burning behind her eyes.  
  
"So tell me this," she continued, "why'd you let Rogue into this place if you knew her killer was here?"  
  
"Besides the fact that Rogue herself is also an extremely powerful mutant with emotional turmoil, which is exactly what this school is dedicated to act as a haven for, I thought she could perhaps find some closure through confronting his killer."  
  
"Closure? She'll go ballistic when she finds out! She'll certainly try to kill me."  
  
Xavier nodded. "I know now that perhaps my intentions were a tad idealistic and naïve. I was unaware of how deep her hate ran for Caleb's killer." Jean flinched at the word as if it were a sharp blade running right under her breast. "Hate is not necessarily a thought, but more an emotion, which is why I could not detect it so predominantly as, say, an empath would."  
  
Jean released a frustrated sigh, dozens of emotions fighting for her conscious attention. Finally she mumbled, "I really am sorry about it, now. When I killed those people, I had one thing in mind: cold, steely revenge. Now that I see," she swallowed hard, "see everything and everyone that it affects. Now that I've met his fiancée and actually LIKE her, I feel... guilty." The last word echoed off the walls and in her head. Guilt was never an emotion she gave the time of day until now, now when it was a twisted knot in her stomach that threatened to travel to her throat and spill out in something worse than guilt: confession. "I think if I could go back, I don't know if I'd do it or not anymore. I just... don't know."  
  
Xavier tilted his head. "Perhaps not the right time, but I am very glad to hear you say that, Jean. I was hoping you would come to realize the precious worth of human life and it seems that you've learned, albeit the hard way."  
  
Jean stood and began pacing. "I am regretful! God, I don't know which is worse: hate or regret. What should I do? Should I leave?" She turned to Charles, her eyes wide and questioning.  
  
"No, I do not feel that running will solve anyone's problems, though it is, of course, your decision and still an option. Do not stay for Rogue; stay because you wish to learn and flourish here as an X-Man."  
  
"I do want to stay as an X-Man, but how can I look at her everyday?" Jean fell back into her chair, defeated.  
  
"Confront her when YOU feel the time is right. If you wish, I will be present to relay both your feelings of remorse and the certain information concerning Caleb's own bloody past."  
  
Jean bit her bottom lip. "Why do I have to tell her at all?"  
  
"You just said so yourself that you are regretful. Do you not feel she deserves this much? As I said: closure."  
  
Jean nodded slowly. "Yeah great. Closure," she added glumly.  
  
  
  
**  
  
  
Remy's eyes blinked open against a mass of auburn tangles. He moaned throatily and inhaled deeply. "Mornin'."  
  
Rogue smiled, clearly having been watching him sleep. "It's still about three a.m."  
  
He nodded, turning anyway to stare into the blaring blue digital numbers at his bedside. His head promptly fell back on his pillow, accompanied with a heaving sigh. "Gawd, chere. That was... somet'in' amazing."  
  
Rogue nibbled her lip. "Puh-leeze, Cajun. You were the one wearing me out, Ah sweah!" She leaned down from beside him to plant a sensual kiss on his chest. "But it was wondahful."  
  
He wrapped an arm around her and pressed her against him, kissing the top of her head and stroking her bare, silky shoulders down to her lower back where the sheet began at her hips. She loved what his fingers were doing against her spine and skin. "Mmm," was her satisfied response.  
  
Rogue was happy. She'd come a ways to achieve this elated emotion, but it swam through her tonight. As corny as it sounded to her own ears, Caleb definitely would have wanted her to be happy, and that's precisely how Remy made her feel. And oddly enough, the twinge of guilt she felt was not spawned from memories or worries concerning Caleb, but Bobby.  
  
Poah thing, she thought. She wished she'd never accepted that first date with him and wished even more it had never been interrupted. It simply left her confused. Was he expecting her to go out with him again to pick up where they left off? Was she obligated to give him another chance? Did she want to give him another chance? In a way- yes, she did, because she prided herself on being fair and she had led him on earlier when there was nothing concrete between her and Gambit. But in another way- no; she was happy with Gambit and why look a gift horse in the mouth, or ruin a good thing, or whatever? She didn't need to deal with the emotional mess that dating Bobby and Remy at the same time would boil.  
  
"Earth to Rogue." Remy waved a hand across her face and she swatted it away.   
  
"I was thinking, mah Gawd!" She laughed.  
  
"About what?"  
  
She shrugged but decided to be honest with him. "Bobby, actually."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "T'anks."  
  
She pressed her forehead to his chest, her curls splaying across his skin. "You know what Ah mean. Ah don't know how to let him down."  
  
"I'll do it." Remy offered.  
  
She shook her head against him. "Ah'll just bet you would. No, stay away from him. Ah'll do it mahself, thank you."  
  
He shrugged. "If you insist, chere."  
  
She leaped up and straddled him. He smiled up at her with mischievous eyes and placed each hand on a creamy thigh. "But Ah don't want to talk about that." She grinned and bowed to kiss his lips.  
  
His hands inched their way up her legs. "We don't have to talk at all, chere."  
  
She applied slight pressure on his groin with her own and kissed him again. "What would you rathah do?"  
  
He nuzzled against her soft neck as one hand crept up to a perfect breast. "Somet'in' amazing."  
  
  
**  
  
Ororo stepped from the locker room shower and toweled her long, snowy strands. She pulled on a pair of fitting white capris and a red, spaghetti-strapped tank. Approaching her room, she immediately noticed her open door. She slipped inside and her eyes pinpointed Warren sitting in her plush sitting chair near the window.  
  
He stood upon her arrival and flashed a dazzling grin. "Hello," he said simply.  
  
She nodded her response and commenced to run a comb through her hair.  
  
"I've come to kidnap you," he said from behind her but meeting her eyes in the mirror. "The thing is, I'm not very good at it, so if you'd be so kind as to just come quietly."   
  
She smiled. "What kind of weakling do you think I am?" But she slipped on a pair of red flip-flops just the same.  
  
He cocked his head and led her out the door. "You're not scared are ya'? Don't think I'm this elusive Heartbreaker?"  
  
She laughed out loud to the ceiling. "You? A Heartbreaker? Besides, I let no one control my destiny. Especially not some cold-blooded killer." They piled into his Ferrari. "Where are you whisking me away to, anyway?"  
  
He pulled out. "It's a surprise, darling."  
  
  
  
**  
  
Scott eyed his wife from where she brushed her locks in long even strokes at her vanity. She was unsure if he was looking at her behind his dark shades, so she sat straighter and held her head high just to be safe. When she was finished, she crawled onto the bed and up to his sprawled form. Her elbows bent to kiss the left corner of his mouth, then the right, and finally full on his lips.  
  
He was only slightly responsive, of which she took notice and pouted. "Don't be like that, Scott."  
  
He wanted to scream. She was angry with him, he was sure of it, but every now and again, when she was 'in the mood,' she confronted him like this with smoky eyes and a dangerously sexy pout playing on her full lips and he became weak. Two nights ago, he gave in. Even though they were mad at each other, they had had sex. Scott felt horrible about it; she used him for the frank purpose of fulfilling her and they went right back to being angry at each other the next morning. Never again, he swore, and he meant it. When he had sex with his wife, it would be out of lust AND love, not pure desire desperation like a couple of hormone-driven teenagers.   
  
She used the same tactic as she had last time. "Scott, why are we even fighting, do you know? I've forgotten."  
  
"Gee, maybe because neither you nor your father has apologized for the way you treated Ororo, or perhaps because you accused me of having an affair with Jean and then saying some nasty things about her, which might I add you still haven't apologized for either, or because to get BACK at me for my supposed relationship with Jean you flirted like some sort of high school slut with both Remy and Logan!" He breathed sharply. "The list goes on and on, Wanda, so don't pull this adorable innocent shit with me tonight. I'm not in the-"  
  
"In the mood?" She finished for him, slithering against him to clutch at the waistband of his boxers. "Are you sure, baby?" She groped in his shorts but he nudged her away.  
  
"Positive."  
  
She humphed, defeated, and fell into bed beside him. "Fine, Scott. Pathetic."   
  
He shook his head and swung his legs over the side of his bed. "I'm thirsty."  
  
  
**  
  
"We gotta stop meeting like this, Red." Logan fished into the fridge for a beer.   
  
Jean sat perched on the counter's edge, crossed legged and picking through a pint of ice cream with her spoon. She laughed at the comment. "Heh, I like that. We gotta stop meeting like this," she repeated.  
  
He shook his head. "What are you doing up so late?" He opened the beer and tossed the bottle cap into the garbage.  
  
"I couldn't sleep so I decided to make sure the ice cream supply wasn't contaminated." She shoveled a heaping teaspoon of Rocky Road into her mouth. "Nope."  
  
"Good to know." He toasted his beer bottle against her ice cream container. "To uncontaminated ice cream."  
  
"To uncontaminated ice cream," she chimed. "So, have you and Rogue discovered this mysterious Heartbreaker yet?" She casually continued piling spoonfuls of chocolate into her mouth.  
  
"Yea, actually." He stood at the counter and leaned into her, his chest pressing against her pint of ice cream. "I know it's you, so just surrender."  
  
She giggled but could feel the hot rush of blood invading her cheeks: a dead giveaway. He smiled too and opened his mouth wide for her to feed him a spoonful of her treat. She did so and he swallowed slowly, holding her gaze for an extra second. Jean carefully uncrossed her legs and let them dangle down over the counter on either side of him, his own body taking a tiny step forward to nestle between her knees. She felt the rough calloused texture of his large hand on her right knee and it sparked through her like lightening. Doubts screamed at her as he leaned in, undoubtedly to meet his mouth with hers. This wasn't fair to Logan. She was just broken-hearted over Scott's brutal rebuff and she'd just be using him. And Logan would never forgive her when he found out about what she REALLY was. So why couldn't she turn her head from his approaching lips.  
  
They immediately parted when she sensed him approaching and Logan heard his footsteps or smelt him, Jean wasn't sure.  
  
Either way, by the time Scott appeared at the doorway Logan was across the kitchen and heading out, Jean placing the lid back onto her ice cream container.  
  
Scott stood awkwardly, sensing the sexual tension thick in the air but choosing to ignore it. Logan passed him on his way out and Scott remained facing Jean.  
  
"We gotta stop meeting like this!" She recited proudly. Scott chuckled.   
  
"I suppose."  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
His head shot up. "Huh? Oh nothing, really. It's just... I can't seem to find Warren or Ororo."  
  
"Well that's wonderful!" Jean said. "They're finally swallowing their stupid pride and getting it on!"  
  
"Yeah I guess, but they didn't leave a note or anything. The rules are-"  
  
"Oh give them a break. I have a gut feeling neither of them are the anonymous Heartbreaker- though I'd sure love to know just who the hell is!" She hopped down, threw her ice cream into the freezer and proceeded out the door. "Are you coming?"   
  
  
  
"I think it's wonderful that you've been with Xavier for so long. I'm really thrilled to be a part of what he's doing."  
  
Scott shrugged. "I guess he's always just been like a second father to me. I really appreciate all he's done."  
  
They half-strolled, half-patrolled the grounds under a giant pale moon. Jean noticed illuminating lights just ahead and rushed to her once-familiar night hideout. "The pool!" She exclaimed, spinning to face Scott as he caught up beside her at the edge. "Oh my God! I'll bet the water's wonderful."  
  
He shook his head. "No way." She leaped in without warning, squealing in delight when she resurfaced, her clothes matted to her skin and her hair sopping. Scott inwardly mused on how beautiful she was.  
  
"Oh it's wonderful! Come on in, Scott, the water's fine."  
  
He sat on the edge, his legs submerged form the knees down. "No way," he repeated, this time chuckling despite himself as she twirled in the pool.  
  
Silently, she treaded to where he sat and stood between his thighs, her arms resting on his knees. He wanted to pull her away, but he knew there was no chance in hell he would. "Please come in," she asked sweetly.  
  
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I don't friggin' believe this." He hopped into the water and sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of the liquid surrounding his boxer-clad body from the waist down. She telekinetically tripped him and dunked him, holding him under the water's surface until he plowed back up, she clinging to his back. He splashed her with a big sweep of the hand. "Vixen," he laughed.  
  
She stopped splashing and peered into his red glasses. Water dripped from her eyelids and droplets from the tips of her hair. Her voice croaked. "Kiss me, Scott Summers," she whispered, afraid that if the moon heard her she'd tell Wanda. If anyone heard her.  
  
Scott blinked and ran a hand through his rich brown hair. "I... I want to." His voice betrayed his conscience.  
  
"If you don't kiss me tonight, I'll leave the mansion and never turn back." It was cruel and it certainly wasn't fair, but she was raised with mafia morals and conniving hit men. Fair? Besides, Jean doubted she'd ever be able face him again if he refused after such a frank request.   
  
He wore a pained expression. "I don't think..." his voice trailed off.  
  
She closed the space between them and their bodies pressed together; she felt his thighs against her thighs, his stomach against her stomach, his heartbeat against her heartbeat. She ran hands through his hair. "You don't have to think."  
  
Scott kissed her, hard. He put everything he had into it. He wanted it to last forever. What was one kiss?  
  
It was incredible, that's what it was. Scott wanted more. So much more than the tantalizing fire that radiated from their bodies with this woman, this heart-stoppingly beautiful woman, in his arms. Not his wife- so much more.   
  
Jean melted deep into his embrace as he crushed her against his body, whimpering and moaning against his mouth. She wrapped her long legs around his hips and he held her easily in the water, kissing her with fervent passion.   
  
It was everything he wanted in the cool pool on a hot summer night. She surrounded him like heaven.  
  
  
  
  
A/N  
  
Hmmm, I think that's about it for this chapter. LOVING the reviews so keep 'em coming good, wonderful, God-sent people. Things are going to get a mite, er, steamier in the next chapter and oh remember! It's a soapy-type feel I'm goin' for so you NEVER know what'll happen. (Evil laughter ensues but no one's listening so I stop and chuckle nervously.)   
  
LOVE you guys soooooooo much. Please and please and please: REVIEW! 


	9. Oceans

Jean fingered the clothing items appreciatively. She always liked violet.  
  
"Augh, God, no honey. With your hair color and peaches and cream complexion, purple would only create a clashing fashion statement. Here, take a look at this." Wanda snatched a royal blue V-Neck and held it against her body. "See? Blue is safe and it looks fabulous."  
  
Jean eyed herself in the full-length mirror. She was so sick of blue and "Green! That's a good color for us redheads, too." Wanda's eyes brightened as she tossed Jean a small green sweater. Jean cast one last longing look at the lilac dress pinned on the showcase wall and purchased blue and green.   
  
How did she let Wanda talk her into this mess? Jean decided around Radio Shack that she was the victim here. There she was, minding her own business, thumbing through a mediocre book in the mansion's library when who should arrive? Wanda, circling her prey before striking for the kill. "I'm on my way to the mall and I was wondering if maybe you'd like to..." Jean protested, but Wanda's jaws were clenched too tightly. Only when they reached the mall was Jean informed of the sole objective of their mission: to find a "li'l something to wear that would please Scott."   
  
"Is it your anniversary?" Jean nearly fainted.  
  
"Oh, no, no. Just a surprise, I guess." She chuckled slightly. "The poor fool, bless his heart, he bought me this white, lacy thing a few months ago but he tore it." She grinned mischievously, hinting at just how Scott Summers tore her lingerie. She wanted this little slut to know exactly whose legs Scott settled between. Settled happily, thank you.  
  
Bile rose in Jean's throat. "Oh."  
  
Wanda and Jean sat down at the food court and enjoyed a spicy Chinese dish. "So, where do you think Ororo and Warren have run off to?" Wanda asked, darting at her food with chopsticks.   
  
Jean didn't reply right away, hoping that by some miracle this day would end and she'd be at the mansion, in the library reading, the gym working out, the pool... "I don't know." She finally said tightly, deciding that Wanda had no right to even be in Ororo's presence, let alone gossip about her.   
  
Jean watched as Wanda's full lips made an 'O' to blow a stream of cool air on her hot morsel of food. Jean was suddenly envious. Did HER lips look like that? And if not, is that what Scott loved about this woman, assuming Scott even loved her. Of course he loved her; he married her didn't he?  
  
"I think," Wanda continued, "he whisked her away to some paradise island and is serving her pina coladas right now. Lord knows that man has enough money to buy Texas."  
  
"I don't think Ororo is interested in him for his money." Jean said quickly, a small smile sugaring her defense.   
  
Wanda scoffed. "Yeah, right." She dabbed the corners of her pretty mouth daintily. Jean wanted to open her lip with her knuckles. "Anyways, that's neither here nor there, really. All I know is Scott is royally pissed about them just running off like a bunch of stray dogs."  
  
"They're hardly dogs, Wanda." Jean kept her tone light.  
  
Scott's wife laughed. "Oh, I know! Jean, you're crazy you know that? Oh! Speaking of crazy, who do you think this mysterious Heartbreaker is, hmm?" Jean had no idea Wanda was such a gossiping hen and certainly had no intention of indulging her.  
  
"I really have no idea. I just hope the bastard confesses soon enough so I can start my morning jog again."  
  
Wanda nodded sympathetically but Jean doubted the bitch had heard a word she said. Jean! Calm down. She bit her lip.  
  
"I'll bet it's Bobby: always in his brother's shadow, wishing for the inheritance money, you know they come and go like that." She snapped her fingers.  
  
Jean shrugged. "Bobby's a good kid, I think."  
  
"Well aren't you just the goody two-shoes! God, I'd say it was you but you're too peppermints and dandelions for that kind of shit." Wanda swallowed the last of her food and started polishing off her drink. "But I think it's pretty obvious who it really is."  
  
Jean's interest was slightly piqued. Admittedly, this little roll call was quietly fascinating. "Do tell."  
  
Wanda's dark eyes widened. "Logan, of course!" Jean nearly choked on her Coca Cola. "I mean how much more obvious does it need to be? The minute the professor comes home, he hightails it out of here. Who knows where the hell he is?" She tosses her hand up in the air for emphasis. "I wouldn't be surprised if we never see the bastard again, or upset." She added dryly.  
  
Jean sat back in her chair. If she ever shot Wanda, it wouldn't be in the head. The air release would blow her into the next century.  
  
  
**  
  
Bobby eyed the punching bag suspiciously. "Gimme your best shot," he smirked before ramming his fist into its midsection. He threw frantic punches at it, mumbling threatening obscenities at it, the bag swinging on its thick chain from the ceiling.  
  
"Bobby!" Scott repeated.  
  
"Huh?" The blonde looked up from his fight and the punching bad swung back predictably, slamming into Bobby with its own awaited revenge. "Ah!" He swatted it. "That's one for you, ugly."  
  
Scott lifted a brow and shook his head. "Hey, sorry to interrupt but have you seen Wanda."  
  
Bobby unraveled the wrap around his sore knuckles. "Yeah, she went shopping." Scot grimaced. His wife wasn't exactly a penny pincher. Scott straightened and attempted to look casual as Bobby headed for the locker rooms.  
  
"What about Jean? Seen her anywhere?" His voice was nonchalant and passive.  
  
"Yeah, she went with her."  
  
Bobby slammed through the doors with a burst of exuberance, leaving Scott to wonder what kind of cruel joke someone was playing on him.  
  
  
**  
  
Wanda pulled into the garage and turned the car off with a twist of the key. "Home sweet home," she sighed, pulling numerous bags from the backseat and slamming the door shut.  
  
Jean too retrieved her bags and commenced lugging them into the house beside Wanda. Scott met them at the door. A split-second of uncomfortable silence, a wave of overwhelming positive emotion from Scott (but for whom, Jean wasn't sure) then Wanda dropped her bags and leapt into her husband's arms. "Scott! Hello, love. Miss me?"  
  
He met Jean's eyes over Wanda's shoulder for only a transitory second before dipping his head into her embrace and kissing her auburn curls. He held on for an extra second; Jean clenched her teeth. "Hey hon. How'd you do?"  
  
She stepped from his arms and surveyed the bags. "Not bad. Jean here is a better shopper than I thought." They exchanged small smiles. Scott lifted Wanda's bags easily and proceeded up the stairs. Wanda turned to Jean. "Thanks a lot, Peaches, for giving me a hand today. I hope he likes it!"  
  
Jean, unsure of where the hell the nickname came from, smiled sweetly. "He'll love it."  
  
Wanda smoothed her skirt. "We'll find out tonight, eh?" She giggled and followed Scott upstairs. Jean turned and headed for the kitchen. She needed a drink, something to the tune of straight bourbon. 'Cheer up, Peaches,' Jean sneered inwardly. 'After today, you know you can survive anything.'  
  
  
**  
  
"Can you believe it?" She fumed, pacing before her bed. Remy leaned into the headboard, watching her but hiding his faint amusement. In a way, a very small way of course, it was cute. "Xaviah said that he KNOWS who the Heartbreakah is. Said he's 'discussed the situation with him' but he ain't telling anyone because the fuckah has shit to sort out and then 'he or she will approach me themselves and we can DISCUSS it.' Discuss, nothin', I'll kill the bastard the minute he shows his face, Ah sweah to Gawd."   
  
Remy rose from his seated position, approaching her and wrapping arms around her shoulders. "Aw, c'mon, chere. I'm sure de professor knows what he's doing." Remy felt a twinge of guilt. He knew it was perhaps cold, but the Cajun was getting just a little bit tired of hearing the woman he was falling fast for go on and on about this Caleb fellow. Rogue was tense in his arms. "Shh, it's alright. I understand."  
  
She shrugged him off as gently as possible and snorted. "Fohgive me, Remy, but Ah highly doubt you 'understand.'"  
  
He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Sure I do. Just because I can't sympathize doesn't mean I don't understand: you're mad at Xavier because he won't tell you who de killer is. That's what's really bot'ering you." He approached her again, this time holding her tighter as he peered out the window. She fell against him, her shoulders slumping and her arms coming to hold him close to her body.   
  
"Ah'm sorry. Ah've just had a lot to think about lately."  
  
He nodded as his hands roamed her back, rubbing soothingly. She lifted her head and their lips met wordlessly, drinking off each other's strength. Remy couldn't deny the many women he'd kissed before, but Rogue left them all behind. Her kisses were all raspberry and vanilla swirl, fresh as raindrops on blades of green grass.  
  
"Bobby!" Rogue said, and Remy spun from the window to meet eyes with the boy billionaire.   
  
He stiffened. "Sorry for interrupting. I'm gone." And with that, he disappeared behind the doorway. Needless to say, it did nothing to enhance Rogue's mood.  
  
  
**  
  
Ororo's eyes fluttered open to an endless expanse of immeasurable sky, gray and blue reflecting in her eyes. She inclined her head ever so slightly to the sound of roaring ocean waves crashing to the shore and succumbing to the cool damp sand, gliding like a sheet of perfect glass until it foamed at the edges and seeped into the earth. It was enough to take a goddess' breath away.  
  
A body shifted next to her. She turned and smiled at the slumbering form of a one Warren Worthington the prestigious third. Even with tousled blonde locks and frumpy gray slacks, he was a truly ideal example of chiseled-featured, lively masculinity. He smiled up at her with bleary blue eyes.   
  
"Hey," he rasped, turning over in the sand to prop himself on an elbow. She lied on her back and held his towering gaze. His eyes scanned his surroundings. "Beautiful isn't it?"  
  
She scoffed lightly. "Beautiful doesn't even begin to cover it. It's... It's nature."  
  
He nodded. "Yep." She rolled his eyes.   
  
"Yep," she mocked playfully and poked him between two firm abs.   
  
Last night had been, in a word, enchanting. Ororo believed that kind of bliss was only found between the hardcover of a fairytale, but last night was as real as the sun. He pulled over in his tiny silver car and scurried across to open her door, a sweeping gesture of his hand prompting her to get out. She eyed him suspiciously but did as he asked.   
  
He led her to the other side of a crumbling stone hedge where they were immediately greeted by a steep hill composed solely of jagged rocks and catching weeds. Ororo could see the ocean at the foot of the hill and was soon scrambling right beside Warren to reach the bottom. They clasped hands somewhere in the middle and supported each other when the other lost their balance.   
  
Finally at the bottom, they strolled along the beach, raging sea currents rising to immense heights before falling to their knees and then eventually laying flat as they lapped at Ororo and Warren's feet.   
  
Finally, they had stopped to rest, both finding a seat on the sandy shores far enough away to be safe from the rising tides. He pointed out constellations that she pretended to be interested in but he quickly caught on. "Boring you?"   
  
"Not at all. But you look at it differently. It's not Orion, or some mighty serpent, or this and that. It is simply heaven." She spread her arms wide to encompass the entire sky. "Diamonds for free."  
  
He looked up again, this time with different eyes, not those of the spoiled Ivy League graduate, spoon-fed astronomy lessons every Tuesday and Thursday at precisely one p.m., but those of a man--a man grateful to have a woman beside him that will tell him how to look at the sky the RIGHT way.  
  
They didn't make love that previous night because neither had initiated it. There was no need. There was just the two of them and a newly found heaven.  
  
"What are you thinking about, huh?" He shifted position to lay his head down on her torso. She ran slender fingers through his sun-colored tresses.  
  
"Last night," she responded truthfully. "The stars..." her voice trailed off as his hand slipped under her shirt to rest on the skin of her thin waist.  
  
"Uh-huh," he said, rubbing his thumb across her navel and causing her to suck in a pleased breath.  
  
She raised her hand to cup his chin and lowered his mouth to envelop hers. Their kiss wasn't soft or butterfly, not even at first, just hard and wanting and all the passion Warren knew this woman harbored.   
  
A wave crashed, this time edging ever the more closer to the couple until Ororo felt her toes dip into the sea. She buried her heels into the wet sand while Warren slowly undid the button on her capris, his mouth journeying south to trail hot kisses on her cinnamon neck. Above them, all was peaceful with the orange and red early morning sky, hovering above the blue-green autumn ocean.  
  
  
**  
  
Scott stared Jean right in the eye. She could escape him no longer. He was certain she was avoiding him and now, finally, he would discover the meaning of it all, even if he had to stoop so low as corner her in the Blackbird while she executed the weekly maintenance checklist. All was fair in... whatever, Scott. He shook his nerves and asked her again. "Why are you-"  
  
"I'm not avoiding you, Scott!" A cherry flush crept into her cheeks and Scott fought to clamp his mouth. Adorable. No, he wasn't here to make love, not this time. Four times in all, including the first night in the pool. Despite silent 'good-bye for evers', he always came crawling back to her because, call it cliché, he worshipped the ground she walked on. It was quite pathetic actually. But then again, she hadn't once refused his returns.  
  
She shifted her weight onto the other foot. "Let me through that door."  
  
He crossed his arms and stood planted in front of the latch. "Not until you answer." He was being a child. He didn't care.  
  
Jean clenched her teeth. "Fine, you really want to know?"  
  
"Yes, I rea-"  
  
"What the hell was that little burst of love I was fortunate enough to be made witness to yesterday, hmm? I mean, it wasn't bad enough that she practically shoved it in my face that you two were a 'happily married couple' with wonderful little bedroom surprises, but I had to see that. And YOU initiated it!"  
  
His shoulders slumped. "Jean, you know I can't give her any reason to doubt me. I was trying to be safe!"  
  
She stamped her foot with one charming, tiny thud. Scott suppressed a goofy grin.   
  
Jean knew his intentions were good. She was perhaps trying to pick a fight so they would have a reason to break off this romantic affair with a not-completely-demolished conscience. This wasn't for her. She'd been a lot of things in her life, but the other woman? Never. Jean shook her head. This deep contemplation was getting just a little too complicated.  
  
Scott sensed her worry and closed the gap between them. "Don't touch me!" She cried suddenly. "If you touch me one more time I'll never be able to leave you. God," she squeezed her eyelids tightly, "if you knew me, really."  
  
He smiled and grabbed her hand. She melted against him and he held her close. She pursed her lips then said, "Let me go. You don't want me. You're married. You've got a beautiful wife, a beautiful home, a beautiful family. Don't let me fuck this up for you, Scott."  
  
He pressed his mouth hard against hers. "I don't love Wanda."  
  
She hesitated. "And...?"  
  
He grinned. "And I love you. I do, really. And you're so much more to me than the 'other woman.' As for not knowing the real you, tell me. I'm more than happy to listen."  
  
She traced delicate fingers over his stern jaw line and across his temples. She inferred that his eyes were closed the way his head was tipped and his breathing ran haggard. She kissed his chin. "I'll tell you everything, but first," she captured his mouth fervently in one swift motion. Scott sensed the flavor of where her thoughts headed and was soon kissing back.  
  
  
**  
  
Bobby plopped onto the sofa unceremoniously. His eyebrows etched and wallowing in a sufficiently dampened mood from what he had just seen, the young mutant surfed channels until he was satisfied with the current hockey game. It was turned loud in hopes of drowning his sullen disposition, thus he failed to notice Rogue's entrance into the den until she took a seat beside him.   
  
She curled her legs under her and toyed with the edge of her sock. "Hah," she murmured, and he might not have heard it over the volume had he not been straining to hear her every word.   
  
'This is the part where she falls to her knees and begs I forgive her, promising she'll never do it again, or better yet, swearing that he had manipulated her mind in some way, shape, or form.' He scoffed inwardly. Only in Bobby's World.  
He might have laughed at the silent, inadvertent joke but laughing was not among his high priorities at the moment.   
  
"Bobby, Ah think we need to-"  
  
He held up a hand. "No, we really don't. Let's not sprinkle salt in an open wound, eh?"  
  
She grimaced. He could be very descriptive of his emotions when he wanted to be. "Alraght, well can Ah watch the game with yah?"  
  
He tossed the offer around in his head. Her presence was also not on his list of high priorities--not anymore. He didn't think he could stand to be in the same room with her anymore. Not because he detested her now, or because she had some ghastly bodily odor, but because if she even so much as touched him he'd crumble like a pillar of ash. No doubt.  
  
"Sure," he said anyway, because refusing her was just as hard as looking at her glimmering green eyes and not growing weak. Did that Remy prick deify her like he did?  
  
It didn't matter now because she had clearly made her choice. But Bobby, like his brother, had been puppy-trained into never believing that 'he said, she said shit.' Thanks for that one, Dad. He needed to hear it for himself, straight from her mouth.  
  
"So," his voice cut through the awkward silence he was unaware he'd created with his brooding. "You and Remy an official... whatever?"  
  
She took a second to think about God knows what-Caleb? Her job?-and finally nodded. "Yeah, Ah think you could say that."  
  
"I just did," he said flatly, but not with malicious intent, just raw, good ole heartbreak.   
  
"Yes, we're an official... whatevah."  
  
Bobby wondered why the whole mansion could not hear everything escape his body in one silently screaming, disappointing gust.  
  
  
**  
  
"Pull over. I want ice cream."  
  
Warren glanced at his companion from the corner of his eye. "What?"  
  
"You heard me. Ice Cream. Now." She pointed at a small countryside store with a giant ice cream cone protruding from the roof with the words BEN AND JERRY'S ICE CREAM printed proudly beneath.   
  
Warren shrugged but pulled into the dusty parking lot, rocks and dirt flying up to meet the sides of his car. He tried to ignore it.  
  
Ororo stepped out with languid grace that Warren could not ignore, as well as a few other men entering and exiting the small store. He considered wrapping a possessive arm round her shoulders but thought against it. He didn't have to do that and Lord knew she did not want that. So he settled on holding open the door for her, gentlemanly--not domineering, two rusty bells heralding their entrance.   
  
Ororo stepped to the counter, perching her round black sunglasses atop her head in sharp contrast to her glorious mane of snow while she surveyed the various flavors. Warren, meanwhile, opted to use the restroom.   
  
"Butter Pecan, one scoop, please."   
  
The young girl with braces behind the counter hastily began digging with the scoop, awed and not a little envious of the woman's elegant beauty and perfect confidence. The shrieking bells jangled behind Ororo and she turned casually. In stepped a tall woman in a simple, cream-colored dress tight against her exaggerated curves. "There ya' go. That'll be $1.75."  
  
Ororo turned her attention and paid the girl. She noticed Warren coming from the bathroom hall and opened her mouth to ask if he wanted anything when she noticed his eyes following the woman passing him to reach the bathrooms. She walked with an heir of undeniable power and dripped wealth. The extra sway of her rounded hips when passing the playboy did not go unnoticed to the wind-rider.   
  
She soon disappeared into the bathrooms and Warren caught Ororo's furious azure eyes. He immediately chastised himself. She rolled her eyes and stalked back to the car; he followed.  
  
"C'mon, 'Ro, It was nothing."  
  
She continued licking her ice cream but no longer had a taste for it. "God, give me something a little more original." Perhaps she was being petty, after all, they'd only made love once, but she didn't care. Something inside her sparked when she saw his eyes follow that butter-skinned whore.   
  
"It was just a glance. One glance to her," he squeezed her hand, "a serious something to you."  
  
Ororo absorbed his words. A serious something? Serious usually sent her fleeing for the hills, but not this time.  
  
The rolling clouds in the sky relented. Warren sighed a breath of relief.  
  
  
  
**  
  
  
Scott nibbled her ear from behind. She pressed her shoulders to her neck. "Don't." She said softly, her voice cracking. Scott's brows furrowed and he rolled her over so they faced each other. He wore his pants and she her bra and underwear. He'd covered her with his shirt since her dress was nowhere to be found just before they collapsed into slumber on the Blackbird floor. Tears were welling in her big blue eyes.  
  
"What... What's wrong?" He inquired, hugging her close and fighting off the panic.   
  
She wriggled from his embrace. "It's time I tell you the truth. You'll be the first." His face was etched with confusion but he held silent. She took one deep breath and the confession poured from her mouth. "Scott, I... When I was a kid, a man named Frankie Gestessi killed my father."  
  
A pause. "Geez, I'm sorry," he said, his voice thick with concern. She stopped him.  
  
"There's more. He was involved in organized crime and the only family I had. Just three years ago, I started a little revenge spree." Jean's tone was sour and a hint of regret lurked between the lines.  
  
Scott didn't know what to make of what she said but he had a feeling what the outcome of this little confession would be. God, please no.  
  
"I killed his four sons." Her eyes acquired a sadly distant glaze. "Shot them point blank. The last one: Caleb Gestessi, Rogue's lover." A tear finally did escape her. "God, I'm a fucking monster. I don't know what the hell I was thinking."   
  
Scott licked his lips, unsure of what to do. He wanted to comfort her, but how could he? She was a... Hell, a goddamned murderer. A killer. He hated killers. He surely didn't love them. "Why..." he sputtered, his mind unable to word his emotions. "How could you?"  
  
She shook her head weakly. "I'm so sorry." But she knew she was apologizing to the wrong person.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, Remy tossed a wrench back into his toolbox and wiped the grease from his hands with a blue rag. The garage smelt like gasoline and metal; it was divine, a place where a guy could really relax and get away from all this melodrama bullshit. No drama here-just tools, motor, and his two hands.  
  
And a muffled voice.  
  
He tilted his chin and sharpened his ears. "What de hell?" He muttered, dropping to his hands and knees and fumbling on the cement to follow the voices. He chuckled dryly. "Goin' crazy, homme."  
  
He stood again and the voices were now prominent and very real. He turned his head and was faced with a small intercom. The light flashed yellow which meant it was receiving a message. Remy inferred that someone must have accidentally hit the 'Talk' button on the other line and he was therefore eavesdropping. He was about to tell them to turn it off when he caught a fascinating fragment of the conversation taking place on the other line.  
  
"And you never told me! Or the professor?"   
  
Remy scoffed. Scott: always the paranoid soldier boy. What that guy needed was a good fuck.  
  
"The professor knows! He didn't want to tell Rogue because I'M going to tell her. I'll do it myself. It's MY dirty work." Remy's attention was snagged by now. Rogue's business suddenly became his business and what the hell did, Jeannie--by the sound of it--have to tell Rogue?  
  
"And just when were you going to do that? When she was good and over him so you could scrape open an old scar?"  
  
Remy heard tears in the telekinetic's voice and couldn't help but feel a little bad for her. "I needed time to think about it, okay? I needed to plan what I was going to say, that sort of thing!" Her defense was weak but she spat it with suck fury and hurt it was enough to make any man lay off.   
  
Scott did indeed back down a bit. "Look, I'm not trying to be the heartless hypocrite that pretends he's never done anything wrong in his life and then kick you when you're down, but you can't expect me to just accept this with a teaspoon of sugar and hope I'll just swallow it with a grimace and then smile. This is serious shit, here! You're the goddamned Heartbreaker, Jean!"  
  
Remy nearly flew into the wall behind him.  
  
Her pretty eyes narrowed. "Yeah? And you're fucking the Heartbreaker, so there."  
  
Remy's eyes doubled. Jesus P. Christ! What the hell was wrong with these people!?  
  
Scott flinched at her harsh words but he threw back. "Don't do that. You seduced me, remember?"  
  
Jean's jaw nearly hit the ground. "How dare you! I did no such thing. I merely offered and you were more than happy to oblige, Scott. And need I remind you who cornered who here in the Blackbird, hmm?"  
  
"Offered? Offered! 'If you don't kiss me right now I'll leave and never come back!' THAT'S offering?"  
  
Remy shook his head, hovering now over the intercom as a middle-aged woman hovers around the television. 'You're pat'etic, Remy.'  
  
She looked away with indifferent eyes. "It was your decision."  
  
He clenched his jaw. "Yeah, well, so is this." He stalked past her and slammed open the Blackbird latch. He spun to meet her angry eyes, no longer crying but hard and steely like the eyes she wore when she put bullets in four men's heads.   
  
Remy needed a drink.  
  
  
**  
  
Bobby needed a drink. He filled a glass with brandy and settled onto one of the hall benches, lurking in the shadows and watching with tired eyes the sporadic passers. Down the hall a ways he could see Remy's door. He'd watched the filthy Cajun slip in a while ago and he'd been shacked up in there ever since. Good, maybe he's dead. Bobby flinched. It was the alcohol.  
  
His interest piqued when a flash of crimson appeared in the corner of his eye. He turned and saw the mansion's resident lovely redhead approach Remy's door and knocked twice, quietly enough to snag Bobby's curiosity.   
  
"Remy!" She rasped, keeping her voice low and her face close against the door. When it swung open she was a bit taken aback and straightened with one swift jolt. "Remy, um, good. You're here. I... need to talk to you." Remy watched her with burning eyes. "Can I come in?"  
  
He stepped aside and allowed her to enter.   
  
Bobby watched with silent fascination. That goddamned dirty rat wasn't even dating Rogue a whole month and he's sleeping around on her. Bobby crept to the closed door and pressed an ear against it. Risky, he knew, but hell if he cared.  
  
A few solemn murmurs from Jean and then creaking wood as someone moved somewhere. He was not going to resort to peeking through the keyhole. Besides, they were deadbolts--no keyholes.  
  
Inside, Jean wrung her hands. "I think we should talk."  
  
Remy scanned her nervous gestures with disapproving eyes. "Now is dat anyway for de infamous Heartbreaker to behave, eh?"  
  
Jean nodded. "Thought so. I sensed you after I left the 'Bird. You're quite the onlooker." She remarked dryly.  
  
"Yeah, well, you know me dese days. If it involves Rogue..."  
  
"Yeah, I know, but God Remy," she rushed to him and clasped her hands. "Please, please, don't tell her. I'll take care of it. I promise I'll tell her, and soon, but I just don't want it coming from anyone's mouth but mine."  
  
Remy blinked, rubbing his temples. "Jesus, Jean, alright. Fine, but you had better tell her and I mean soon. I shudder to t'ink what would happen if she knew I knew." He exhaled a deep breath through his teeth, clearly irritated with the entire situation. He looked up at Jean once more, this time with slightly amused eyes. "I still can't believe it. Li'l pure-bred Jeannie girl, de Heartbreaker." He lit a cigarette. "Shit, it's crazy."  
  
She hesitated but grabbed his smoke from between slim fingers and took her own long drag. "Oh, not really all that crazy."  
  
Bobby was nearly catatonic on the other side of the door. Holy God, did HE have something to tell Rogue. When the time was just right, of course.  
  
  
**  
  
Warren often woke up with a beautiful woman beside him two nights in a row, but now he decided he liked it when it was the same woman.  
  
After driving a whole hour yesterday, they were currently only a measly hour from the school but her hand had been nestled comfortably on his thigh and he was finding it hard to drive straight; they couldn't hold out a whole hour.  
  
Which explained why they laid side by side in Room 131 of a quaint little bed 'n breakfast, the morning sun peeking through their curtains. "Are we going to make it home today, Worthington?"  
  
He bit his lip musingly. "Sure hope so." He hugged a pillow while she stood and dressed.   
  
They were definitely going to make it home because she could not be in those clothes for one more day. "Do you think they miss us?" She asked, finger-combing her eggshell-colored locks.   
  
He shook his head and pulled her back into bed. She tumbled on top of him and swatted him playfully. "They're too wrapped up in their own little personal affairs. Next time on Days of our Mutant Lives..." his voice trailed off when she erupted into a fit of giggles.   
  
"You're too much, Warren." She laughed.  
  
Their door burst open and three masked men filed in. A needle was jabbed into both mutants' necks before either could react. They went lifeless within approximately twelve seconds.  
  
"Storm and Angel are down."  
  
"Good," came the voice from the other end of the communicator. "Escort them to their new accommodations."  
  
  
**  
  
The blonde woman stood at the mansion's tall iron gate. Her limousine driver shifted impatiently behind her. "Miss...?"  
  
She cocked a brow but did not turn. "You may go." Her voice was sharp but not necessarily cold, just resolute. The timid man nodded behind her and sped away.  
  
She focused back on the iron bars and extended a long finger to press the 'Talk' button on the intercom.   
  
"Emma Frost to see Professor Charles Xavier."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
My Ramblings~  
Hi Hi Hi There! (A few of you have caught on to my Clockwork Orange references... veeeery perceptive:) But that's neither here nor there; how goes it so far? I know the cliffhanger is monstrous but you know me: sick, twisted, evil, etc. I love to hear your comments through reviews and e-mails. You guys rock!  
  
As always, puhleeeze REVIEW! I won't beg...   
  
Yes I will. PUHLEEZE! 


	10. Door #1, Door #2, or door #3??

Born and raised in the wealthy social provinces of upstate New York, Emma Frost strongly disliked any situation in which she was forced to ask for help. That was before her nineteenth birthday- a bit young, she realized, for a mutation to manifest (she knew for she had researched it immediately) but it wasn't unheard of. Now, five years later, when the hushed murmurs in her head grew in both volume and quantity, she was forced to choose between a psychiatric ward or Xavier's Institute- a quaint but prestigious school established strictly for mutants. She and her parents decided there was no way in hell she'd be caught dead in a mental hospitable, or as her father had so graciously termed it, "the nut house."  
  
So Xavier's it was.  
  
Despite the close strings she kept attached to her father and his bank accounts, Emma prided herself on being basically independent, and though Xavier's Institute seemed fairly pleasant, she was not entirely thrilled with the idea of having to be shipped off to the academy as if she were back in junior high and being loaded onto a plane and flown cross-country to attend one of her several boarding schools. But during her interview with Charles Xavier, he'd revealed to her that the Institute was so much more, acting as a station for a team he'd recruited to use their mutations for a greater cause. Emma had never been part of a "greater cause" in her entire life, unless you counted prom committee or cheerleading squad, and was admittedly touched by both the confession and invitation. She decided immediately that she did indeed want to join his team and right away. Xavier smiled warmly.  
  
"I'm glad you feel that way, Ms. Frost. We'll begin your training as soon as possible. I think you will like it here."  
  
Three days later, she returned upon Charles' request.  
  
She sat in his office, back straight, legs crossed, cool and collected and fingering her Italian leather suitcases as Xavier explained the basic goals of the school and what he hoped to accomplish in her stay, dabbing his tea bag in and out of his small teacup.   
  
"Ah, I've summoned my X-Men and here are some of them now." He gestured at his door and it immediately swung open, a fairly built dark-haired man with tinted sunglasses and two slender, equally beautiful redheaded women gaining entrance. Close behind was an attractive couple consisting of a tall, lithe man with long auburn hair beside a pretty brunette, the two standing close enough to give away their dating status.  
  
"I apologize, Ms. Frost, but four of our members appear to be otherwise occupied at the moment. That's all right, we may begin the introductions with Scott and Wanda Summers, Jean Grey, Remy LeBeau and Rogue."  
  
Emma eyed the belle with a questioning eye but quickly averted her attention when she was received with an icy glare. In an attempt to mask her embarrassment, the petite blonde turned instead to the more congenial looking portion of the team, the gentleman with glasses and two redheads.   
  
Wanda had wandered behind Xavier's desk in hopes that he would notice the perplexed look in her dark eyes but hopefully not her callous thoughts. 'Who the hell is she and what is she doing here?'   
  
"So," Emma regarded Jean, "Mrs. Summers, is it? What's a girl to do aro-"  
  
"No, I'm Mrs. Summers," came the sharp interruption from behind her. Emma spun to see the irritated expression etched in the woman's features. "I'm Mrs. Summers. That's Miss Grey."  
  
Scott and Jean exchanged awkward chuckles and Rogue subtly buried her face in Remy's shoulder to suppress the embarrassed smile.   
  
"Oh God, I'm sorry!" Emma said, suddenly wishing to crawl into a whole and die. Her first impression was failing miserably.   
  
Charles cleared his throat and continued with the overview of his school's agenda. Occasionally, one of the others would offer a helpful and genuinely amicable addition to the conversation, slowly setting Emma more at ease with her situation and beginning a long recovery from a rocky head start.   
  
  
**  
"Well Ah dunno about you girls, but Ah don't like her one bit."  
  
Jean noted that Rogue had taken a considerable mood swing between this morning and the afternoon. At the meeting held while Emma unpacked in her room, Rogue was furious that Xavier would invite another into his home while "a fucking psycho runs loose!" Xavier insisted that Emma needed the guidance he could offer and not a day too soon. She was a telepath and Jean sympathized; the voices were exasperating, in a word. Xavier then assured Rogue that the 'psycho killer' she spoke of was no longer a threat to his team, and of that he was positive. Rogue simply narrowed her eyes. "Whatevah," she'd said, and left it at that.   
  
Jean clicked the pen in her hand when she wasn't chewing on the edge, allowing herself to indulge in yet another recent memory. Scott caught her in the den one night; it was late and she was tackling a T.V. Guide crossword puzzle. He saw her nibbling on the pen tip and confessed he found it hard not to stare. She chided him playfully but he noticed her tongue dart in and out a tad more seductively, teasing the ballpoint and him.   
  
"Blank Rhapsody; eight letters."  
  
"Rustlers'," he said and took a seat beside her on the couch.   
  
"Bill Blank the Science Guy." She turned to him. "Three letters."  
  
"Nye," he said, edging ever closer. She met him in the middle until their thighs were touching. She watched his hand settle casually on her knee while he shared the crossword puzzle with her. When she was lost in thought, he would lean over and bury himself in her neck, making her sigh and dip her head back before regaining focus and slapping his leg.   
  
"Cut it out! You want to get us in trouble?"  
  
His butterfly kisses against her neck soon transformed into slow, sinful ministrations with his tongue until her breathing ran haggard. "Stop it, you! Someone will hear me." He did not, that is until Jean's eyebrows shot up and she hissed, "Wanda!"  
  
They were on opposite sides of the couch before his wife was even within hearing range of the den. When she entered, she suspected nothing. They hoped.  
  
That had been almost a whole week before she broke the news to him. They hadn't 'accidentally' stumbled across each other since, and for that Jean's heart did a painful twist.   
  
She shook the thought and glanced casually over at Scott's wife. "How do you like her?" Silly question, she knew.  
  
Wanda scoffed. "I don't."   
  
Jean nodded. "Thought so."  
  
Wanda raised a brow. "And what do you think of her, Peaches?"  
  
Rogue suddenly looked up from her magazine. "Oh, Bono!" She interrupted enthusiastically. "Put him down. Ah love him!"  
  
"Yeah, I love him too. We might as well put the Edge down as well. I like ole Edge."  
  
"Edge?" Wanda asked.  
  
"You know, the guitar player!" Jean scribbled the names down on her pad of paper. "I hate her," she replied in regards to Wanda's previous question. "There's only room for one gorgeous telepath in this house." She winked.  
  
"We could say the same thing about redheads." Rogue added from over her issue of Rolling Stone. Wanda and Jean glanced at each other, a brief stone-cold hatred flashing in their pretty eyes. Rogue immediately wished she hadn't said anything. She quickly added another to the list. "Oh and we've got to have a Beatle. I like John."  
  
Jean nodded, "Okay."  
  
"No, no, no." Wanda said. "It's got to be Paul. He's ten times cuter!"  
  
Jean sighed. "We'll put both of them and you can have Paul." Wanda smiled. "Ok, who else..." she tapped the pen against her notepad. Bobby wandered into the den and was immediately taken back by the congregation of women.   
  
"Woah, I didn't do it." He held his hands up defensively.  
  
Jean snickered. "Hey Bobby, pull up a seat. We were just making up a little list." She held up the paper: Rock and Roll Men To Sleep With. "What can we say?"  
  
"We plead insanity," Wanda chimed.  
  
"Moah like boredom," Rogue smiled.  
  
Bobby spun on his heel. "I guess I'll be going then."  
  
"Oh hey Bobby, where were you when we had to endure early morning introductions with our new mansion resident, hmm? I didn't even think you got up that early, let alone leave the mansion." Wanda chomped a baby carrot, content.  
  
Bobby shrugged but was careful to avoid Rogue's eyes. She wasn't making a tremendous effort, either. "Just busy, I guess."  
  
"Yeah well I don't think Charles was very pleased." Wanda sniffed.  
  
"Let off, sugah. He said he was busy." Rogue said, her tone light but Wanda was no fool.  
  
"At least try to make an effort and meet her tonight, Bobby, so the professor isn't upset with you, you know?" Jean circled Lindsey Buckingham absently; she'd demanded he be the first on the list.  
  
Bobby said he'd try and left the women alone again.   
  
"Oh, you know who Ah like?"  
  
"Who?" The two other women asked in unison.  
  
"That guy, what's his name? Oh shoot... he was lead for The Doors." Rogue snapped her fingers, frustrated.  
  
"Van Morrison?" Wanda asked.  
  
"Jim," Jean piped and nearly shrank under Wanda's cool stare. "It was Jim Morrison. Van Morrison was the guy that sang 'Brown Eyed Girl,' and 'Domino.'"  
  
"Yeah, Jim!" Rogue cheered. "Ah like Jim Morrison, put him down."  
  
"You ever seen the video for that song 'Unknown Soldier?'" Jean asked.  
  
"Yes! Where he pretends to be executed on stage with a drum roll and everythang? Ah loved that!" Rogue exclaimed, tucking her legs under her and positioning her copy of Rolling Stone on her lap.  
  
Jean grinned. "Yeah that was cool."  
  
Wanda decided she really disliked Jean's smile. Or Jean, even.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Logan stripped his leather jacket and tossed it on the foyer closet's coat hanger. Irritated and glazed with fatigue from his aimless journey on his prized Harley, he stumbled into the kitchen for a beer and into the Rec. Room for some justified relaxing. But it was already occupied.  
  
She looked up from where she dipped over the pool table, her tight shirt leaving little to the imagination. Blonde locks tumbled across her forehead as their eyes met.  
  
He took a swig of his brew. "Who the fuck are you?" He wasn't in the mood to be polite or even civil.  
  
She stood, slowly enough to make his eyes linger on her voluptuous body. "Emma Frost, your new recruit. You must be Wolverine. Logan isn't it?"  
  
He nodded and spun on his heel, leaving the room and a chagrined Emma.  
  
His arrival went from great to wonderful when he ran into Jean on the stairs to his room. 'Fucking great.' He stopped for her and she did likewise; they stood silently on the stairs while finding any excuse not to meet eyes.   
  
Jean didn't want to ask, she really did not want to, but she knew it would gnaw at her in the night until she did. "Why'd you go?"  
  
He locked eyes with her now, his gaze black and looming. "You know why." He swiped at his nose with a finger. "I could smell him on you."  
  
Jean knew immediately that he referred to Scott. "I'm sorry." She'd been saying that a lot lately and she knew this would not be the last time. Even now, she wasn't exactly sure why she was sorry for Wolverine; it wasn't as if they had ever been an official "couple"- a word this mansion seems to avoid like the plague- but they'd flirted enough to suggest something, that was for sure.   
  
Logan only nodded, wishing he had a stogie to drag or a beer to swig, anything to avoid her searing blue stare that snagged him into a vicious trap he found impossible to escape. Truth be told, returning to this place hadn't been something he was anticipating, but Rogue was one of Logan's closest friends- a rare thing to be sure- and he wasn't going to leave her hanging without helping drag in the bastard that killed her lover, whoever the hell he was.  
  
Wordlessly, they nodded an understanding and parted separate ways- she descending, he ascending.   
  
  
  
**  
  
"Professor?"  
  
"Yes, Scott. What is it?"  
  
"Well, I'm sure it's nothing terribly important, it's just that..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It's just... I'm a bit worried about the whereabouts of Angel and Storm. I mean I haven't seen them for a few days and-"  
  
"You're absolutely right, Cyclops. I too have noticed their absence and planned on using Cerebro to locate them after my meeting with Senator Snyder via satellite. Thank you for informing me of your concern. If nothing else, it assures me I can trust you as a vigilant field leader of my team."  
  
"Just thought I'd see what the deal was."  
  
"Thank you. Good-bye, Scott."  
  
"Bye Professor."  
  
  
**  
  
"So tell me more."  
  
Emma had been bored come midnight and as there was no way of slipping out to hit a club or just enjoy a good ole-fashioned night on the town- as she was the main attraction and was thus watched like a hawk at all times- she decided that the mansion was just a good a place as any to get drunk.  
  
Unfortunately, Bobby was unknowingly plopped in her path so she decided to take him along for the ride. 'Hey, Bobby is it? How about you fix us a drink, hmm playboy?' She couldn't help it; it was in her nature to cause trouble, from Jocelyn Boarding School, to Margaret's Prep School, even on her own father's estate and finally here- Xavier's Institute. As far as Emma was concerned, life was bland. It was her mission to "spice' it up. Bobby was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Emma smirked; famous last words.  
  
Nine, count them- nine, shots and a few bad jokes later, Bobby was fall down drunk in his room, with Emma positioning shot glasses at the young boy's lips, encouraging the next swig with a playing smile and bright, seductive eyes.   
  
Glancing at her from the corner of his crisp blue eyes, he would swallow the next shot with a chuckle in his throat and decidedly much more relaxed state of mind than he had started with.  
  
"Well," Bobby began, licking his lips slowly as if it were a great feat he was to accomplish, "I don't know if there's mush more to tell. I think I've pretty mush covered everyone." His words were slow and slurred.  
  
"That's too bad about that little southern belle of yours. Seems to me like you're better off without that white trash anyways, if you ask me." Bobby narrowed his blurry vision on her, wanting to defend Rogue but unable to form a coherent sentence before Emma continued. "And what's all this about a murderer? Who do you think it is?"  
  
Emma hated to admit it, but the prospect of a dangerous killer under the same roof as her did much to enhance a certain arousal in the young woman. Growing up in a posh, affluent environment in which the people thrived on superficiality, Emma Frost had been attracted to the proverbial 'bad boy' since she was old enough to date.   
  
Bobby's eyes squinted as he considered his answer. "Who do I think it is?" He mumbled, burying his head back into the plush sitting chair in his room.   
  
Emma piqued a brow. Bobby's stalling did not go unnoticed. "Yes, that's right. Who do you think it is?" When Bobby simply shook his head, she took it upon herself to crawl into his lap and lace her fingers behind his neck. "Robert, please. Who are you protecting?"  
  
His eyes widened. "No one! No one at all it's just..." His sentence was stopped with her peach lips playing over his, her tongue creeping into his compliant mouth.  
  
She pulled back and sank her glittering eyes into his, adjusting her position so that extra pressure was applied to his stiff groin. His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed. "Jesus, woman," he breathed.  
  
He felt her legs straddle him in the chair and her tongue trace his earlobe. "Who?" She whispered, rocking against him again. He moaned throatily.  
  
Emma, dissatisfied, trailed her fingers to the buttons of her blouse. She snatched his hand and rested it against her plump breast. His thumb grazed a pert nipple and he lowered himself to take it in his mouth when she stopped him. "Who?" She repeated, a bit firmly this time.  
  
Bobby was nearly driven to insanity with the feel of her soft body pressing against his lap, her soft pink flesh so tantalizingly close but miles away until he said one name. He pressed hard against her mouth and gasped between kisses, "God. Jean. It's Je..." He kissed her again, covering Emma's small smile of triumph.  
  
She considered pulling away from the boy now that she'd acquired all she was after, but decided against it. He might very well be a decent fuck. Indulging the young man, she let him use her body as an obvious outlet for the fervor he harbored, but not for a wealthy blonde seductress with cream-colored skin. Despite what he heard through the door, Bobby knew that the real heartbreaker wasn't a redhead that drove a team leader to infidelity, but a passionate green-eyed girl with a bold white streak through her cinnamon tresses.   
  
  
  
**  
  
Jean tugged on a pair of sweatpants with her white tank and padded quickly down the hallway, noticing others coming from their rooms one by one as well, rubbing sleep from their eyes.  
  
"What's going on?" Scott asked from his doorway, Wanda peeking from behind him.   
  
Jean shrugged. "I don't know. The professor woke me up and told me to get down their and quick!"  
  
"Us too," Wanda added as the three trampled down the stairs.  
  
Jean saw Bobby's door fling open and the blonde boy stepped out. What Jean was not expecting was the blonde woman behind him clad in one of his shirts, hair mussed and dark circles under her eyes. The Heartbreaker fought to keep her mouth from hanging agape and focused instead on catching up with Wanda and Scott.  
  
  
  
"They're in a small, nearly nonexistent town named Greenwood approximately 40 miles east of Buffalo. On the further outskirts of the town is a giant, rundown shopping mall. It's been deserted for nearly twenty years but it still stands."  
  
"And you think they're there?" Wolverine asked coolly.  
  
"Cerebro has pinpointed them there, yes."  
  
Scott straightened, immediately assuming leadership mode. "Was Cerebro able to give you any specifics on the buildings architecture: possible entrances, how many levels we're looking at, anything?"  
  
The professor shook his head solemnly. "I'm sorry Scott but I could only catch glimpses through the brainwaves of Ororo and Warren, and vague ones at that. Neither had any explicit details of the building's structure."  
  
Bobby fought the urge to pace. "Damn it, what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Life without his brother was easy when Bobby assumed he'd simply disappeared with a beautiful woman to have some fun for a few days- it wouldn't have been the first time- but now that his brother was in fact kidnapped and hauled out to Bumsville, Anywhere, well that was another story entirely and this standing around shit was getting him and his patience nowhere fast.  
  
"You'll be leaving immediately." Xavier turned to their newest member. "Emma, you too will be on this mission, creating a telepathic connection with the team so Jean will not have to exert her efforts doing so. I would rather her telekinetic assets be used on this mission; I think they will be of greater use to us." Emma nodded. "But as I feel you are not yet ready to fully participate in a mission, particularly one as grave as this, you will be stationed in the Blackbird, serving also as a fast getaway for your teammates should they require it." She nodded again.  
  
A moment of silence sank between the team until Scott clapped his hands in a "hut-hut" fashion, assuring them they had no time to lose.  
  
  
  
**  
  
The Blackbird hummed steadily while the passengers took this time to either rest-up or pace anxiously.  
  
Rogue stood from her seat and stretched her long legs. She idly wandered to where Bobby sat, head in hands and trying his best not to shake. She frowned. "Aw Bobby." She leaned down and squeezed his hand. He met her eyes solemnly. "We're gonna get him back, sugah. 'Ro, too. Don't you worry one bit, alraght?"  
  
He swallowed hard. "I just can't help but wonder how much time we've been wasting just sitting around, assuming they had run off somewhere." He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it. "Goddamn, I feel like such an idiot."   
  
Rogue tilted her head. "Don't. It ain't yoah fault." She brought him closer and gave him a genuine hug, strong and sincere. Bobby nearly melted into her warm embrace. When she walked away, he felt miserable- about his brother, about sleeping with Emma, about shooting his mouth off to her when it wasn't his place to talk. He was just hurt and Emma had been... convenient. Still, it didn't excuse confiding in her about Jean or sleeping with her. Bobby rubbed his temple. He felt a migraine coming on.  
  
Remy watched Bobby from the corner of his blazing red eyes. To expend nervous energy, he shuffled a pack of cards with his nimble fingers. Something was wrong with Bobby; he knew something. Remy paled at the thought. In this mansion, one could know a million things. The Cajun burrowed his tongue against a tooth- another habit he possessed, only this one was done when he was swimming in deep contemplation. Saints and Christ but he really hated that kid, and it wasn't simply because he'd been a bit jealous at whatever he and Rogue USED to have, or the way he held on to Rogue for an extra instant when they'd just hugged. God Remy, have a heart. The kid's brother could be lying face down in his own sticky blood right now.   
  
Remy winced.  
  
No, he wasn't, because if Worthington was, then Ororo could be. Or worse.  
  
No. They were fine. Remy shuffled again, a few sparks flying from the worn edges of the pack. They were fine.  
  
  
  
**  
  
Warren Worthington III rolled his shoulders once again in a feeble attempt to relieve some of the tension growing in his neck. He assessed his situation once more. Apparently, his body was contained in a large red box with only his legs and head free. He decided a long time ago it was damn frustrating that his arms were unable to reach his head, which was growing strained from hanging outside of his prison.  
  
Warren had seen these sorts of body boxes at a magic show his mother had taken him and his brother to see when he was nine. The assistant would crawl in there and be sawed in half then the magician would miraculously piece her back together. Warren hoped whatever sick magician was pulling this prank didn't get any bright ideas.  
  
As if on cue, the door swung open. Warren saw a man with a medium build and orange hair and mustache cross the room. He swung a walking stick beside him and was a little on the short side, but what snatched Warren's attention was the bold orange and yellow plaid suit the man wore, complete with equally ridiculous top-hat.   
  
"Who the fuck are you? And where's Ororo!" Warren thrashed in his box but quickly ceased when the man burst into guffaws.   
  
"Oh lordy, lordy, you mustn't do that ole chap. It's just too funny." He raced to the magician box and hopped joyfully onto it, just over where Warren's stomach was. "It's just too, too funny." He sat with his legs crossed, peering down into Warren's eyes. "Tell me something, ole sport. When do ya' think your friends will show up, hmm?" The absurd little man pretended to be interested in his nails. "'Cause I'm getting just a leeeetle bit tired of waiting around, ain't you? Well of course you are! Look at the predicament I've put YOU in?" He laughed uproariously as if he'd said something simply hilarious.  
  
"Where's Ororo?" Warren managed through clenched teeth.  
  
"Oh you mean the pretty lil lady you came in with?" He shrugged. "Not up yet."  
  
"You don't know what you've done, buddy." The blonde warned.  
  
His captor gazed at him blankly and then wordlessly brought the flower on his suit to his nose. He inhaled deeply. "Ah, beautiful. Here take a whiff." He held it to Warren's passive nose and he squeezed, liquid spraying from the flower and splashing onto Warren's cheeks and nose. It dribbled down his chin in thin red streaks. Warren's eyes widened.  
  
The man deadpanned. "Blood, ole boy. Blood."  
  
  
**  
  
Though Scott had switched the Blackbird to autopilot, he preferred staying seated in the pilot's seat in case something should go wrong. The endless expanse of sky growing boring, he turned his chair to look over his team. They were ready.  
  
His eyes avoided Jean's much the same way hers avoided him. They were finally on speaking terms- after all, how could they pull off a silent treatment with each other without the others wondering when they'd found the time to even engage in a fight- but they hadn't had a little midnight rendezvous since she'd made him privy to what the rest of the mansion was just dying to know. Scott was beginning to really believe that it was over. Good. He was married. What he had with Jean was just a few nights of foolish fun with a few "I love you"s thrown in. That's it.  
  
Scott gathered the courage to look at her. She was trying to doze but he knew her better than that. 'Look at her; she's... the Heartbreaker!' He tried to paint over the fact with pleasant images of her in his arms, first thing in the morning on a bed of fresh grass, dewdrops in her eyelashes and smiling but the truth bled through the dream like a crimson blot against a sheet of solid white.  
  
Scott felt eyes boring into him and he turned to catch Logan glaring at him. No, he wasn't glaring. Logan always looks like that. Scott nearly nodded to himself. Yeah, he always looks like that. He could almost believe it until Logan produced a small scoff and closed his eyes, laying back into the seat.  
  
A small scream of panic rang in Scott's ears. God all hell! Does he know?  
  
  
**  
  
"I'll do it." The taller man lifted Ororo easily in his arms and all but tossed her into a giant toy chest. She fell in a crumpled, unconscious heap.  
  
"Man, she's pretty!" The shorter one noted with a slight Australian accent.   
  
The taller one stood over her with decisive eyes. "Yeah, she is." He said finally. "Aw well," he said, starting away. Maybe the boss'll let us have a go at her when he's done with her, eh?" He laughed until the wind was knocked from him in one swift kick from behind. Storm grabbed his hair and slammed his face into a close giant building block.   
  
The smaller one charged at her but she dodged him easily. She positioned her elbow to meet with his counterattack but arms swung her from behind.   
  
"I wouldn't do that, gorgeous." An obnoxious voice rang from behind her. She wrenched to see a man with hair the color of ripe oranges.   
  
"Who the hell are you?" She spat, already summoning the natural forced to her aid. Before they could answer her call though, she finally felt the sting of a needle plunged into her minutes ago by the carrot top psycho running the operation. She fell limp against him.  
  
"That, my dear," he heaved her back into the chest, "is the million dollar question." Slamming the lock on it, he turned back to his remaining goon, the taller one still unconscious on the floor. "Get rid of him," he nudged his thug with his toe, "and bring this to the control room." He slapped the heavy wooden chest that contained Ororo. "I think I want her with me when they come."  
  
  
**  
  
The X-Men filed out of the jet, Cyclops staying behind to briefly make sure Emma was familiar with the controls. When he was satisfied she was, he joined his team in front of the towering gray stone building.   
  
"Remy and Logan, I want you to circle the place and check out possible exits. Rogue, you get air born and see if there's anything up top."  
  
The trio returned with no results. "Nothin', Cyke. Place is sealed up like a pickle jar!"  
  
"Alright, thanks Rogue." He said, already acting as point as the team neared the apparently one and only entrance. On one broken glass door, the word 'enter' was painted on in crude white letters.   
  
"Don't mind if we do," Logan muttered, the last to enter behind his team.   
  
Inside, they founf themselves in a rather small, secluded center much like a lobby.  
  
"Dis ain't like no mall I've seen cher, how 'bout you?" Rogue shook her head.  
  
Before them stood three more doors, each one painted a bright, bold color. They were numbered 'one,' 'two,' and 'three.'   
  
"Stay alert," Scott warned.  
  
Logan rolled his eyes but bit back a comment. No ain't the time.  
  
An intercom cackled above them and the team tensed like a live wire. The lights dimmed except for the bulbs flashing yellow and lining the ceiling. A jaunty ditty blared through the old black speakers in the ceiling.  
  
"Step right up! Step right up! Ya' only live once, ladies and gents, take the plunge and choose a door. You got the guts? You got the brains? Well buddy, let's see just exactly WHAT you got!" The voice was swift and slick, the voice of a true carnival master. "What's it gonna be? Door number one, door number two, or door number three?"  
  
The team exchanged glances and turned back to the three doors.   
  
Scott's voice cut through the music, sure and strong. "Alright, split up. Rogue, Jean, and Gambit, you take 1. Wolverine and Iceman take 2. Wanda, you're with me in 3." They nodded once and divided into their individual groups.  
  
But it really didn't matter. Every door led to a long hallway. Tentatively and unaware of each other, each sub-team crept forward. Only then was it apparent that the hallway had simply been a holograph- bait to lure them on until the doors could slam and lock behind them.  
  
"No!" Jean cried, running to pry it open. The team members with more extreme powers dared not use them for fear of exploding the entire room and ultimately injuring a teammate. Before Rogue could ram the door or Wolverine could unsheathe his claws, gas seeped through the vents and filled their lungs.   
  
The last to fall, Wolverine mused before he slipped into unconsciousness: "Oh I can already tell THIS is gonna be a fuckin' joyride."  
  
  
**  
  
In his control room, the man with orange hair smiled smugly and thought, "Round one to you, Arcade."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
MY NOTES:  
Alright, that's all for now but the next chapter is gonna be some serious coolness. There's action, drama, and even pie! Yes, pie, really! Now you just CAN'T miss it! But seriously, everyone's gonna find out everything in the next chapter.  
  
Also, um, does anyone have any suggestions on what I should put in the funhouse? I already have a lot of ideas but if yours are better, I'm all ears!  
  
  
And lastly, REVIEW! O please, REVIEW! And you know I love any review, but feel free to make it long if you want. Talk about anything you want- the direction it's taking, what's being dragged out too much, what needs to be elaborated on, who Ororo should end up with, who Bobby should end up with, if Wanda should do some evil, conniving thing, should the professor grow hair? You tell me folks. I'm your little slave-writer and if I had it my way, I'd lock myself in my dark basement/cave and frantically type your ideas out!!! 


	11. Glassy Maze

"Are they dressed?" Arcade asked.   
  
His consort nodded, lifting a toy box very similar to the one Ororo was currently trapped in. Inside was an unconscious pile of Jean and Rogue. "Yes sir."  
  
Arcade smiled. "Wonderful. You know what to do with them."  
  
  
**  
  
Emma Frost positioned a delicate finger at her temple. "Professor?" She called telepathically. "Professor!"  
  
"Yes Emma, what is it?" His voice echoed hollow in her head, tight and worried.  
  
"It's the team. I... I've lost contact with them. I don't know what happened. One minute I was connecting us all telepathically and the next, they're just... gone." Her voice was panicked. "Should I go in?"  
  
"No," Xavier said quickly, fearing already for his team's safety. "It is best you stay in the Blackbird and prepare for an immediate liftoff if they should need it. I will try to contact them through Cerebro."  
  
Emma sighed and broke the connection. 'Damn it.'  
  
  
**  
  
Being a considerably attractive man, Remy had never been precisely AFRAID of mirrors. But this room gave him more than enough reason to feel slightly uncomfortable before the tall, glassy, reflective sheets. They were your usual funhouse mirrors, distorting his image and the like, and at first he almost smirked, but as the coiling passages continued, every one lined with the tall mirrors making him uglier and uglier at every turn, he eventually came to the conclusion that it was just damned annoying.   
  
He stood planted in front of one particular mirror, this one making him appear grotesquely tall, and waited for a hint of danger, a robot soldier, anything to take his mind off of the rows and rows of... reflection.  
  
He would have jumped at the sound of the cackling voice through the intercom, except that Remy was notorious for his nerves of steel. "Whatsa' matter, Cajun boy? Don't like what you see?" The voice erupted into fits of ridiculous laughter. Gambit rolled his eyes.   
  
"It wasn't that funny, homme." He spoke up, always one for playing with fire. "Why don't you quit hidin' behind dose speakers and show us all what a great and powerful Oz you REALLY are, eh?"  
  
There was a split-second of pause before, "You know what I think, hmm? I think all that sassy wit is a cover-up for some deeper secrets you hide within- some secrets you maybe don't wanna share with the rest of us..." His voice grew low and an unseen, eerie energy flooded the room. Remy's hair stood on end. He'd asked for a little action, but he could already tell this was in no way going to be fun.  
  
"What are you talkin' about, you sick bastard?" Remy's voice was sharp but he refused to sound in the least bit frightened, not for this crazy fuck. When the only response he received was an empty echo, Remy opened his mouth to call again before a flash of movement caught his eye. He jerked his head. "What the...?"  
  
Something in the mirror... no. It couldn't be. Remy traveled on through the winding halls. Another flash of movement- this time slower. Remy peered at the mirror ahead and the reflection melted into another picture. Remy nearly swallowed his heart.  
  
It was him, except it wasn't. He was younger, maybe a few years, back when he kept his hair very long and the burning embers in his eyes remained all ice and steel. Remy watched himself pocket the money of unsuspecting strangers- usually tourists- on the busy, loud streets of New Orleans. Men and women alike fell prey to his nimble fingers and silent approaches.  
  
Remy gasped. "How d'you know about dis?" He hollered at the ceiling, but again, silence responded. Remy spun on his heel and stalked away from that mirror. He wouldn't turn back to that again; he'd keep that reflection behind him. Another mirror transformed before him.  
  
He was seated at a small table in the center of a loud, pulsing club bathed in an artificial orange and red light. Across from him was a skinny kid only a few years his senior. His hand trembled from a starved addiction as he slid a wad of money across the table. Remy casually pocketed the money and slipped the man a brown package under the table in return. The man's eyes grew big. He tucked the package tight against his chest and slid out of the booth to scurry across the dance floor and straight home.  
  
Remy's stomach fell. Again, he turned and pursued forward, never back. Another mirror changed and though he abhorred the thought, he couldn't force himself to wrench from the sight.  
  
Though he'd seen it coming a mile away, this one sucker-punched him especially.  
  
He was against a brick wall, arms crossed, cigarette between two fingers. When the young woman appeared, he smothered the smoke and straightened to regard her. They conversed amicably for a few moments. Remy couldn't hear what he and the girl were saying, but it didn't matter. He knew who she was and what she was doing. After a while, she reached into her bra and produced a few folded bills. Even then- in the dead center of his most miserable, shameful, disgusting time- he couldn't meet her eyes. He simply took the money and nodded, jerking his head to summon her inside.   
  
Remy fought the looming rage and self-loathing that hovered around him as he watched himself. It wasn't a particularly memorable moment from that period in his life, just a glimpse of an every night routine. He remembered that girl, though, with stringy strawberry blonde hair and heavy blue make-up. AIDS. That was when he officially 'quit' the business. She died three months later.  
  
Remy clenched his fist. "I'd turn dose off right now if I were you, homme!" He called. Nothing. "Bastard," he spat before throwing his foot into one of the mirrors. It shattered on impact, sending shards of glass to sprinkle Remy's hair and uniform. He retrieved a considerable-sized slice of glass and charged it kinetically- with more effort, he noted, than usual. The small piece of glass glowed with energy and Remy threw it into another mirror, uncaring of the slivers that dug into his skin with every mirror he destroyed.   
  
He executed a similar procedure and shattered another, then another, and another until nothing was left of the long hallways but black walls. Spent of energy, Remy slid against a wall and collected himself, head in hands. Soon he'd find a way out of these dark halls but for now, he rested.  
  
  
**  
  
Arcade sat at his monitors, a grin plastered on his freckled features. That was fun, he thought, referring to Remy's breakdown.   
  
He scanned the rest of his screens. His funhouse was designed as a maze with individual rooms in certain corners where he harbored the X-Men separately. Every twisting passage led to a central center, and in that focal point sat Jean Grey on a stool hovering above a large, almost ten foot deep tank of water. With her hands tied behind her back, a gag in her mouth, and her powers negated from the power inhibitor positioned also in the maze's center, balancing was an excellent feat for the telepath. Should she squirm to free herself from her bonds, she would most likely plunge into the water. Without her powers, Jean knew she would surely drown with her hands tied.   
  
Arcade pressed a control button at his desk and leaned down to speak directly into it. "Hello Miss Grey. How are we today?"  
  
Her eyes narrowed and he was met with a crude, muffled response. The truth was, she was glazed with fatigue and her head hurt- mental bomb exploding from the inside out hurt. She blamed it on the power inhibitor.   
  
He grinned. "Wonderful. I thought it best you know that I am staring at the button that releases that bench as we speak. I'm going to press this button in precisely ten minutes. How I do hope your friends make it here in time."  
  
Arcade chuckled lightly and commenced sifting through the rest of the screens. One was blank: Wolverine's. Arcade's face fell. "Damn," he muttered. He knew it had only been a matter of time. Glumly, he picked up a pen and began scribbling on a notepad.  
  
  
  
**  
  
Wanda's eyes blinked open. She stood shakily, the gas's effect still lingering in her foggy brain. She scanned the large room she centered. She was surrounded with giant children's building blocks, a pink or blue letter carved into the side.   
  
"What the...?" She mumbled, her tongue big and clumsy in her still-dry mouth- another effect of the gas, she guessed. She approached one of the gigantic blocks nearly twice her size and gazed at it, dumbfounded. She brought her hand to it. Knock knock. The tiny echo told her it was hollow. Something stirred inside. She pressed her ear to the wooden paneling to decipher the scuffle. Suddenly, the other side of the block exploded open, throwing Wanda back to cradle her head.  
  
She squinted to see various robots of approximately three feet in height slowly roll their way toward her. She stumbled back, incredulous with the small metal creations as they wheeled their way closer and closer. They cornered her against another giant block that's top panel slid open to produce five more of the small machines. Wanda's eyes widened. "What the hell are you?" She breathed.  
  
Thinking them perhaps harmless, she dared to pause for a sigh of collection. She was unprepared for one of the robots to shake uncontrollably before its body detonated, sending pieces of debris to go whizzing past her head. She screeched and ducked, flinging her arms above her head in protection.  
  
A second robot proceeded likewise, keeping her tucked to the ground. Before a third could explode, Wanda fired a hex bolt, killing four of the androids in one shot.   
  
Shooting up from her spot on the floor, she ran frantically from one area to another, finding the room to be securely closed in. Every block she passed spouted another batch of the self-destructive machines.   
  
The more of them she destroyed, the more that would come to fill their vacancy. "Don't you little bastards ever die?!" Frantic, she searched for an end to her vicious cycle.   
  
"You're boring me, now." Arcade's voice boomed over the intercom, lazy and flippant. She shot the ceiling a vicious look. "One of those blocks controls the main circuitry. If you destroy it, they should stop." His voice was matter-of-fact, but a lopsided grin played on his features. "You have ten seconds. Ten, five, four-"  
  
Wanda panicked. Her eyes darted around the room. Which one?   
  
"Two."  
  
She focused her energy on a distant block and shot a precise hex bolt into its center. It exploded in a flash of orange and black and an insanely huge, gray cloud of smoke appeared from the top. A small smile of triumph spread across her face. Her probability factor had not failed her.   
  
In his chair, Arcade slammed a hand onto his control desk. "Impossible! Over fifty blocks in their and that little witch pinned the right one. I don't freakin' believe it!" He snatched the walky-talky at his side and fumbled with it, receiving only static from the other line. Half-annoyed, half-amused, he rose from his seat and stalked out of the control room. He kicked the giant toy box at his feet as he passed. "Be right back, toots." Where Ororo's wails and protests had been heard from inside, there was now only silence. Arcade didn't bother himself with it.  
  
As he disappeared into the hallway, he didn't even notice his monitors go black on his desk.  
  
  
**  
  
Wolverine retrieved his claws from the mess of wires. "That should count for something,"he grunted, climbing the stairs from the basement. Having quickly and easily escaped his individual game room, he'd been on his own for some time, prowling the halls in search of the others. So far he'd only come across an unfortunate few of Arcade's hunch men and of course this little circuit box downstairs. Sheathing his claws, he slipped silently into one of the main halls. Taking note of the coiling corridors, he perked a black, bushy brow. "A maze. Well, bub, looks like I lucked out." He inhaled deeply. "I love mazes."  
  
  
**  
  
Rogue opened her eyes, paint caked on the lids. She looked down at herself and to her disgust, beheld her attire to be a many-skirted, ridiculously fluffy pink dress, flaring about her long legs like a gigantic bell. The ruffles itched her arms and chest. She clawed at the fabric while standing up and taking in her surroundings. "Cute," she muttered, still clawing at the gown. Arcade had obviously placed her in a giant dollhouse, pink on every wall and flowers and hearts in every corner.  
  
Rogue was too infuriated to even second glance the insane décor. 'Ah sweah to Jesus Lawd, Ah'm going to kill Jean. That two-timing bitch bettah hope they find her befoah Ah do." She stormed to the window only to find its shutters did not open. She opted instead for the door, which, very much like a freak Barbie dream house, led to wide, plastic stairs. She scampered down them, mumbling that the 'sick pervert that kidnapped them had way too much time and money.'  
  
The stairs ended with a tall wooden door. She swung it open to reveal a long, green-carpeted hallway that met with three others only five feet from her. She immediately recognized it as a maze and began following the passages. Each turn was a different colored carpet or tile type. 'It would almost be cool,' hs emused.  
  
Turning the purple passage and making her way onto the cake-white corridor, Rogue stumbled across two large men, one with a thick black beard.  
  
"Welly, welly, welly, welly, welly, welly, well! Look what we got here, Po."  
  
'Po' grinned voraciously. "Yeah, pretty lil thing." He put his hands on his knees, his tone patronizing. "You lost, lil honey? C'mere, I'll find your way."  
  
Rogue scoffed. "Fuck you."  
  
His syrup-smile melted and he straightened to regard her with steely eyes. "I know who this one is." Po inclined his chin toward Black Beard. "This must be the southern star." He chuckled dryly. "I'd be careful if I were you, princess. Don't wanna end up like the other one." She squinted at him menacingly. She'd had just about enough of this prick's shit. He continued. "Your little Cajun friend, the joker with the cards," Rogue found herself holding her breath. "He's dead." He spat the two words like he shouldn't even be bothering himself with these sorts of trivialities. But he said it with perfect clarity, unflinching truth.  
  
Black Beard's voice was like black oil to her ears. "We sure made him hurt, didn't we, Po?"  
  
Unconsciously, she clutched her stomach and nearly doubled over as if she'd been punched in the gut, her mind a jumble of frantic thoughts and seething rage. And oh God, the paint that swelled inside.   
  
  
**  
  
"You know something, I like pie." Arcade spun a pie on his fingertip with obvious difficulty. When he dropped it he only chuckled, watching as the cream filled pastry burned a whole in his tile.  
  
On her bench in front of him, Jean's eyes grew wide over the gag.   
  
Arcade picked another pie from the cart beside him. After that little incident with Wanda, he deserved a little fun. "Acid pie. It's quite extraordinary, really. My own recipe!" He erupted into another fit of giggles and Jean cringed. Did this stupid bastard ever shut up?  
  
He slammed another pie onto the floor and laughed again when the cream ate through the tiles, all the way down to the plywood. Retrieving another from the rack, his eyes pinned Jean and he threw his arm back, taking aim.   
  
She screeched against the rag on her tongue as he hurled it at her face. She ducked, her strong legs grasping onto the bench to steady her. But it was no use; the pie flew into the red bulls-eye behind her, triggering the bench to give way and causing Jean to go splashing into the tank. The top immediately sealed above a frantic, sinking Jean Grey.  
  
Arcade snickered and waved a dramatic "bye-bye!"  
  
  
**  
  
Rogue charged Po, heaving her right shoulder at him. He stumbled backward and finally into a tripped up pile of limbs on the floor. Turning her attention toward Black Beard, she sucker punched him in the stomach and again across his jaw. Not satisfied with the sickening cracks her fists were making, she gripped his neck, unwilling to let go even when his own hands fumbled with hers, his bulging eyes begging for release as his pigment turned a pleasing plum.   
  
"Make him hurt? Make him hurt! I'll make YOU hurt, you mother fucker!" She shook his hulking body under her weight. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" She didn't dare swipe at the tears streaking her cheeks because she wasn't about to let him go.   
  
Finally, he went limp in her arms, his eyeballs fleeing to the recesses of his sockets.   
  
Strands of cinnamon hair plastered against her damp cheeks and her ravenous eyes pinpointed the other man in the corner. He had stood by now and was inching his way down the hall. She flashed him a feral grin worthy of one of her partner, Wolverine. "Ah'm not finished. Get ovah heuh." Her tone was deadly and Po was no fool. He bolted down the hallway, Rogue quick on his heels.   
  
The closer she got to what looked like to be the center of the winding maze, the weaker she noticed herself becoming. Slightly dizzy and with a sudden shooting pain in her head, she had to slow to a brisk walk until something just ahead caught her attention. Nearing it, she squinted and recognized her teammate Jean at the bottom of a considerable tank of water.   
  
For a transitory second, their eyes met, Jean's begging and desperate, Rogue's furious and blazing. Jean lie helpless and dying and Rogue only steps from her. She hesitated.  
  
The trap door beneath her gave out and her arms flew above her head as she went crashing six feet down into a pit, finding herself robbed of her flight ability.  
  
  
Jean slipped into unconsciousness.   
  
"No!" Came a distant voice, and then a crimson streak pranced across her vision before the glass shattered around her. Her body gushed out of the tank on the water. When her eyes opened again, she was cradled in Scott's arms, shards of glass in the skin of her arm and hair. He removed the gag. "Jean," came Scott's voice, fuzzy and drowned out by the water in her ears but at the same time commanding, strong, and not without a note of worry.  
  
His rough fingers tapped her cheek and then he was applying pressure on her neck, feeling for a pulse. She chose that moment to sputter water and gasp. "I'm all wet," she said weakly, and she almost felt Scott's deep sigh of relief.   
  
Jean looked past him to see the majority of her teammates assembled, including Wanda's cold visage. Her head hurt again.  
  
Remy appeared behind them, a dazed Warren stumbling behind him. "Look what I found."  
  
"Warren!" Bobby cried, rushing to his brother. The two engaged in a long hug. Bobby pulled away to regard Warren seriously. "You alright, Bratty?"  
  
Warren nodded slowly, flexing his legs. "My feet are asleep."  
  
"He was in some sort of box, like a magician's-"  
  
"Remy!" The team went silent at the cry from below.  
  
The Cajun tilted his head. "Rogue?" He followed her cries and eventually peered down into the pit. "Rogue!" The team quickly gathered behind him.  
  
"Oh mah... Ah can't believe it! They told me... Ah thought you were dead! Ah thought you were dead!" She repeated, tears of relief and joy swelling in her eyes. She attempted to fly up and join her team but only hopped. Her face became annoyed. "Why can't Ah fly?"  
  
Jean whipped her head around and scanned the room. "I think there's a power inhibitor in here, but I don't know where."  
  
"Help me up!" She stretched her arms. Remy and Scott laid flat on their backs, reaching down until both her hands met theirs and they hauled her back onto their level.   
  
Rogue immediately flung against Remy, but before his stunned arms could wrap themselves around her slim body, she'd already pulled away.   
  
"Come on, team," Scott's voice was sharp. "We've still got to find Ororo."  
  
Warren nodded enthusiastically and his brother gave him a reassuring slap on the shoulder.  
  
"And Logan," Jean added.  
  
"Good point, chere. Where is Wolverine?"   
  
  
**  
  
The last time Wolverine unsheathed his claws, blood seeped through the wounds. That was not good.  
  
Figuring his healing factor was being tampered with, he decided to hold off on whipping the adamantium advantages out unless it was dire. Fine, he thought. I'll take care of the fucker with my bare hands.  
  
And looking at his situation- he lurking in the shadows of Arcade's main control room not four feet behind the ringmaster at his desk- his chances of winning were looking favorable.  
  
He lunged an attack from behind, cradling Arcade's head between his two large hands, twisting his neck in just such a threatening way. "Move and I snap it," Logan growled. Arcade simply laughed out loud, a steely, metallic laugh that rang clear through the thick walls.   
  
That's when Logan noticed that this guy's smell wasn't quite right, not quite... human. Effortlessly, Logan gave Arcade's neck a sharp twist. Wires and electric circuits spouted from his eyes and neck and the laughter droned on slowly before finally, slowly dying out.  
  
Wolverine snatched a note pinned on a defective monitor and read it. Disgusted, he stuffed it in his uniform pocket.   
  
A shift in the air current sent another scent to his nostrils. Spinning on his heel, Logan raced to the giant toy box in the corner of the room. Only as he neared it did he recognize the unmistakable tick-tick-ticking he'd come to know in his years working for the top-secret government division, the Opal Meridian.   
  
The combination lock was shifting slightly with every second, slowly inching its way toward zero. Logan knew what happened at zero. Boom.  
  
In one, swiftly painful reflex, he unsheathed his claws and slashed through the mahogany chest. Ororo lay unconscious inside. Logan immediately remembered her claustrophobia. He swept her up and bolted out the door, pinpointing his team in the maze's center and racing toward it.   
  
Finding them about to divide into groups, no doubt to find him and Storm, he charged in and hollered a warning. "Let's move it! This place is about to blow!"  
  
They reacted instantly, following Logan's lead and fleeing from the building.   
  
  
  
Emma's heart leapt at the sight of them, alive. "Thank God," she breathed, clutching her chest. Taking notice of their haste, she revved the jet's engines and prepared for quick lift-off.  
  
They piled into the Blackbird, Scott immediately taking the jet's reigns. "Nice work, Emma," he managed through haggard gasps.  
  
They were twenty feet in the air when the funhouse exploded into a million flying pieces of wood and plastic and smoke and fire.   
  
Wolverine settled into a chair and took a breath. Digging into his pocket for a cigar, his fingers fumbled across the small Post-It. He read it again and scoffed. 'Yeah we have, bub.'  
  
"YOU MIGHT HAVE WON THE BATTLE, BUT YOU HAVEN'T WON THE WAR!"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N  
Well I feel like an ass. As difficult as this chapter was for me to write, I was hoping it'd be longer. Live 'n' learn. The next chapter is one I've been eager to write for a while. I'm so glad it's finally here. ::Does a happy dance but then remembers can't dance so stops... immediately.::   
  
And I hope none of you are confusing the Arcade in this story with the Arcade in the Evolution show. Arcade's a real Marvel villain. And so is Magneto, I mean, whoops! You didn't hear that last part!   
  
For those of you who are reading, you know you rock like Led Zeppelin (a f*cking awesome band.)   
  
For those of you who are reading AND reviewing, you rock like Fleetwood Mac (my all-time favorite band.)  
  
And for those of you who are reading, reviewing, AND e-mailing me, you rock like Woodstock, man, like Woodstock. 


	12. Stupid Hearts

The ride home was silent and steady.   
  
Warren did his best to console Ororo when she swam back to consciousness but she politely told him that she wished to be alone right now. He nodded his consent and settled back into his own seat, swearing to himself that he would approach her again when they were alone and they would discuss it then. Maybe not this night, but soon they would talk and he would comfort her.  
  
The others were too consumed in their own ordeals to converse with the exception of Rogue, who diligently remained at Remy's side. Something had happened to him. She wasn't sure what, but something told her that that Arcade bastard did more than put her lover through a second-rate carnival trick. She settled close against him.   
  
"You okay, Remy?"  
  
He blinked and flashed her a grin. "'Course, chere. I'm perfect." He kissed her once. "Better dan perfect."  
  
Whatever it was, he didn't feel like sharing, not yet anyway. Rogue kept herself busy by stroking his hair and sharing the occasional kiss. It kept her mind off... she shuddered with rage and stole a glance at Jean. No, there was a time and place for revenge. The Blackbird was neither.   
  
  
**  
  
The team settled quietly into the Briefing Room, Xavier sitting solemnly at the head of the long table, fingers steepled before his face.  
  
"My X-Men, let me just start off by saying how proud and entirely grateful I am that you have all made it back to me safe." They exchanged glances and nods. Xavier continued. "I feel our best course of action right now would simply be rest and recovery, some more than others, I understand, so if you do not feel up to your training hours, please feel free to confront me and I will make any reasonable exceptions needed." Warren stole a sidelong glance at Ororo. She didn't meet his eyes, instead sitting tall and confident. Rogue fumbled for Remy's hand under the table and squeezed it reassuringly.   
  
"Who was he, Professor?" Scott asked, his voice the solid security he knew his team needed then.   
  
Charles sighed. "Arcade works for another, much more dangerous mutant named Erik Lensherr, alias Magneto."  
  
Wanda and Scott exchanged looks. "The same Erik Lensherr you went to school with?" She asked.  
  
Xavier nodded gravely. "My past with Magneto has little to do with my focus now. He's an alpha-class mutant with the ability to control magnetic fields."  
  
"What does he want with us?" Bobby questioned, his brows knitted in confusion.  
  
"My attempts for human-mutant co-existence clash perfectly with his belief that mutants are superior to the human race. I am quite sure that this display of power was simply a warning. Arcade is not exactly powerful and Erik no doubt knows this. It is my assumption that Arcade's kidnapping attempt was to scare us and make him known to you." Charles shook his head sadly. Jean rested a consoling hand on his shoulder. Rogue bit back a snarl.   
  
A bit more discussion before the professor suggested they all get some heavily needed rest. As the crowd dispersed, Jean tentatively approached where Rogue stood. 'If she even breathes on me, Ah sweah to Gawd...'  
  
"Rogue?" Jean's voice was low so as not to draw attention to their conversation as the other's headed their various ways.  
  
Rogue spun to face her, odium flashing in her pretty green eyes. "What?" She spat, causing the team to linger on their way out the door.   
  
Jean's eyes widened. "Well... I was just... I was just wondering-"  
  
Rogue clenched her teeth impatiently, prompting the words to fly out of Jean's mouth. "Well why did you hesitate when you saw me drowning in that tank, why? I saw you standing there and you stopped, like you were *considering* saving me or something!" Jean held her breath, hands balled in small fists by her side.  
  
Rogue exploded, furious words gushing from her mouth. "Me? How dare you get on mah ass about anything, you two-timing, lying, butchah!" The team settled back into their spots, some ready to intervene if necessary and others just curious.   
  
Jean brought a hand to her mouth. "Butcher? Wha-" breathless, she groped for words. Say something, God, anything! Rogue said something for her.  
  
"Yeah, Ah know all about you shooting my fiancée point blank in the face, and how you murdered all those othah men! Yoah a fucking monstah and yoah going to hell, Miss Perfect."  
  
Jean backed into a close wall and shook her head, eyes as wide as saucers and speechless. "No, not like this." She choked out. "You weren't supposed to find out-"  
  
"Well Ah did find out, Jean. Ah know everything!"   
  
"-like this! You weren't supposed to find out like this! I was going to tell you, Rogue, I swear I was." She found the breath and words that had been lodged in her throat. "Who... Who the hell told you? How did you find out?!" Her eyes darted around the room, pinning certain members of her team. She did her best to avoid Logan's furious and shocked glare.   
  
Emma sank into her chair. "Well I sure as hell didn't."  
  
Jean's knees grew weak, causing her to lean all the more heavily on the wall. "You knew?!"  
  
Bobby swallowed hard, suddenly wishing he were elsewhere.  
  
"Bobby told me," Emma finished.  
  
Rogue's eyes pierced the younger Worthington, unable to mask the note of hurt in her voice. "Bobby, you knew! And you didn't tell me?" She faced Jean menacingly. "You've got a sick sense of humah. You told Bobby!"   
  
Bobby squirmed. "I wasn't supposed to know, that's the thing."  
  
Remy held his breath in his lungs, praying to Christ that for once Robert Worthington would keep his mouth shut. Christ had other intentions. "I heard Remy talking about it with Jean.  
  
All air left both southerners' bodies. Rogue stumbled back two feet. "No," she breathed. "You didn't know, Remy... You didn't."  
  
Remy was unable to meet the impossibly green eyes he was usually unable to resist. "I heard Jean and Cyclops talkin' about it." He shot Jean a glare. "I agreed not to say anyt'ing because she *swore* she'd tell you immediately and I t'ought it best you heard from her. She swore!" He gestured for Jean's backing and the redhead nodded sincerely.  
  
Rogue held her hands up, ceasing their attempts. She could hear no more. "I don't fuckin' believe this." She snarled and stalked out of the Briefing Room. Remy stood to pursue.  
  
"I wouldn't if I were you, Cajun. She's pissed; I can tell."  
  
Remy silently narrowed his eyes on Logan. They held each other's gaze for a thick moment until Remy spun on his heel and followed after Rogue. Logan clenched his jaw before fleeing in the other direction. Jean hated to leave in the middle of what she'd gotten herself into, but she had to know. And Logan would know.  
  
She slid from her seat and briskly walked after him, leaving a slack-jawed audience.  
  
Scott caught the "where do you think you're going?" in his throat. No, it's her life. She can do whatever the hell she wants.   
  
Warren piped. "Yo fearless. You knew about Jean and you never told us? I thought we were supposed to be your team, here. You're supposed to tell us what's going on, not leave us in the dark. Poor call, man." He laughed bitterly. "I mean, you'd look us all dead in the eye and lie for, what, hips and long hair?" He shoved his brother's shoulder, growing angrier. "And you too, boy. What the hell were you thinking, not telling anyone? What'd she do, get on her knees for you two?" Warren unconsciously bit his tongue, knowing immediately he had gone too far.  
  
Scott shot from his seat. "How dare you! You have no idea what you're talking about. Jean and I are Just. Friends. You got that?"  
  
Warren looked as if he were ready to retort when Ororo placed a gentle hand on his arm. He silenced immediately as she and Scott's eyes met.   
  
Scott nearly bowed to those eyes; there was a look of pure, brutal understanding in those cloudy blue depths and he wasn't sure to be thankful or even more ashamed with himself.  
  
Professor Xavier rested his hands flat on the conference table. "Warren, I understand your point of view entirely, but you must understand Jean's reasons for doing what she did."  
  
"Well that's as good a place to start as any, Professor." Warren bit.  
  
Xavier inhaled deeply. "Alright..."  
  
  
**  
  
"Logan! Logan wait, damn it!" He stalled in his pursuit and spun to face her, eyes brewing with rage and steely distrust.   
  
"I suggest you make it fast, Jean, before I lose my temper." The chords in his neck protruded thickly. Jean swallowed fear and continued firmly.   
  
"How did she find out?"  
  
He shrugged. "How the hell should I know?"  
  
Jean jabbed a finger at the Briefing Room down the hall. "No one in there ratted me out. She found out another way and I know you know how. Or at least have a pretty damned good idea."  
  
"Who the hell are you to yell at me?" He hollered. "In case you've forgotten, you're the fucking liar around here!" His screaming visage was inches from her face. She flinched unwillingly.  
  
"I know," she said weakly. "God I know, Logan, but please, try to understand! There's more to the story and I promise to tell you every last detail just please, tell me how Rogue found out. I've got to know."   
  
Her eyes were big and pleading and Logan nearly slapped himself for almost giving in. Almost. "You don't gotta know shit. If you want to know something, I suggest you ask Rogue. Nicely." And with that, he brushed past her.  
  
  
**  
  
"Wanda, please don't be like this." Came Scott's voice, thin and tight.  
  
She sat up and beat her pillow mercilessly under the pretense of fluffing it before replying, "What the hell, Scott? I don't even want to know what a slut like Jean Grey was doing talking with my husband about such personal matters."  
  
Scott shifted his position so that he faced his wife fully. "How many times do I have to tell you? We're simply very close friends. When Jean confided in me about being the Heartbreaker, I trusted her to explain herself immediately to Rogue, but until then I was just being the open mind she needed right then."  
  
Wanda stared at him with dark, glittering eyes. She looked as if she was ready to finally believe him; Scott swallowed guilt and seized the weak moment. "Really?" She asked innocently enough to make his heart sink.  
  
"Of course," he fought for control of his voice.   
  
She smiled. "Good." She settled back into her bed. "But no more of those private little discussions between the two of you, alright? After tonight Jean won't exactly be the mansion's most popular resident and we want to set an example." She smiled again and closed her eyes, inviting sleep to take her anywhere.  
  
Scott lied awake, his conscience warring with his damnably weak heart. He'd never considered blatant lies to be his strong suit; perhaps Wanda was just gullible. 'No,' his thoughts lashed bitterly. 'She just trusts you the way a good wife trusts her husband.'  
  
Scott squeezed his eyes closed tightly. He didn't hate Wanda. She wasn't... bad. But whatever was there when they were first married certainly no longer remained. Or maybe it did remain, but something else had appeared.  
  
Or someone else.  
  
Scott shook his head. He had a knack for picking the perfectly wrong ones. Wanda was selfish, spoiled, and shallow. But she was also confident, intelligent, and had been fighting for the dream just as long as he had.  
  
And then there was the other redhead- damned, wicked harlot. Murderer. But that wasn't Jean, not really. He knew her bloodstained hands were a result of revenge, and Scott knew that revenge made the sound of fury ring through even the wisest man's ears. But did that excuse it?  
  
He liked to think it did. After all, the *real* Jean, the Jean Grey he knew, was passionate, intellectual, imaginative, and truly kindhearted- as long as you haven't killed a member of her family. Analyze it all you wanted, but when it came down to it, Scott knew there had never been a fear struck through him than the fear he felt at seeing Jean's lifeless body floating in the tank, eyes grossly huge and lips shaded frosty.  
  
Scott exhaled sharply. He could rationalize his reasons to hate Jean and love Wanda until he was blue in the face but the fact remained: Jean had him in her clutches and she showed no signs of turning him loose. But Scott was no animal and he knew that what he was doing to Wanda wasn't fair. She deserved better. Something would have to give. Soon.  
  
  
**  
  
At least Remy's incessant pounding on her bedroom door had ceased. He was starting to give Rogue a headache. She recalled his pleads.  
  
"C'mon, chere, open up. We should talk. Rogue, for mercy's sake! I'm not leavin' until you open dis door!"  
  
That was two-and-a-half hours ago. Thankfully, he must have left if the bellowing silence was any indication.  
  
Rogue brushed an errant strand of hair from her eyes and continued to shoot daggers at the mocking ceiling from where she lay on her bed, surrounded by throw pillows.  
  
She was too hurt to be livid with Jean at the moment. Remy knew. Remy knew. She threw it around in her head until it echoed within every crevice. And Bobby. Her stomach turned. Both of them knew and she was the laughing center of the gossip ring.   
  
And Scott, who the hell did soldier-boy think he was fooling? It was painfully obvious that he harbored some sort of favoritism for Jean. Rogue distinctly remembered him referring to she and Logan as slithering snakes when they were discovered. And what of Jean and her massacre? No biggie. She's giving me head so I'm going to let this one slide. Rogue flinched. No, she didn't know anything for sure, but sometimes she caught them sharing glances that were more than questionable. She'd have to ask Logan about it.  
  
Rogue sighed disgustedly. Disgust at Jean. At Remy. At Bobby. At herself. It hadn't even been a year and she'd put her heart on the line for another man. At first, it was just touch with Remy. She craved the contact she had once been starved of and he'd been more than willing to oblige, and his embrace was warm and never meaningless or brusque.   
  
After discovering his past, she'd decided almost immediately that it was over, despite how her screaming heart protested. But then he won her back, almost effortlessly, and Rogue thought herself to have seen another side of him that he reserved for her only: literature and intellect and burning zealous eyes. Before she knew what was what, he'd lodged himself firmly in her heart.   
  
Rogue scoffed. 'Damn.'  
  
Then she would just have to find a way to pry him out, now wouldn't she?   
  
"Who was Ah kiddin'?" She mumbled. "Ah can't trust people. He was a mistake."  
  
  
**   
  
Outside of her room, Remy slept soundly in the hallway, back against her door, arms folded across his chest.  
  
His eyes opened immediately when he sensed Ororo approach. She halted and looked down at him with a disappointed frown.  
  
"I don't need dat," he said simply, not in the mood for another brawl against a woman with a hell of a temper.  
  
She shook her head, beautiful pure white strands dangling against her skin. "You *need* someone to steal you in your left eye."  
  
Remy met her eyes solemnly. "I need advice."  
  
Ororo pondered this and finally nodded, kneeling beside him and tilting her head to regard him. "Like any woman, she will need time to recover. You must give her that space that she is longing for before trying to smuggle yourself back into it."  
  
He nodded slowly. "How long will it take, you t'ink?"   
  
"That is a decision that is in Rogue's hands entirely. No one can decide for her." Storm then added sharply, "It is even her decision never to forgive you at all."  
  
He clamped a hand over her mouth. "Speak of de devil, chere! You tryin' to jinx Remy?"   
  
She smiled with her blazing blue eyes and he removed his hand before standing, assisting her to her feet as well. "Maybe you're right. Okay, okay, I give your way a try, but if it don't work, I still never take no for an answer."  
  
Storm nodded. "As you wish, Remy. I am not the one to stop you."  
  
  
**  
  
Ororo heard Warren's approaching footsteps. He knocked tentatively and from her bed she told him that the door was open. He peeked inside and immediately smiled sheepishly in a mildly adorable way.  
  
"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt if you were resting or an-"  
  
"Warren, I told you the door was open." She patted the space beside her and smiled sweetly.  
  
His lips curled slightly and he closed the door behind him before slowly taking a seat on the edge. His massive wings expanded behind him in two sheets of downy feather. He peered down into her beautiful eyes intently. "Ororo, I don't know what else to do. I know how you must feel after what happened. Is there anything I can do? Anything?" He recalled her lifeless body in Logan's arms as they fled, hoping to pull back before a bomb sent the house into a million flying pieces. She was too weak to stand and he and Logan had done their best to persuade her weak protests about boarding the plane.   
  
"I don't want to go in there," she had muttered feebly and Warren's heart did a painful twist inside his chest. "Don't take me inside of that plane."  
  
"C'mon, darlin'. We gotta move," came Logan's words, rushed and panicked as if he could hear the looming tick-tick-tick of the explosives.   
  
That was when Warren suggested they give her a sedative immediately if she chose. Ororo obliged and made sure the task was carried out as soon as they entered the aircraft.  
  
"Penny for your thoughts," Ororo said from where she laid. Warren turned to meet those magnificent blue eyes.   
  
"Not even worth a penny." His shoulders slumped and he asked her a second time, his voice low and significant. "If there's *anything* I can do, Ororo, anything at all, just say the words and I am right here." His finger stabbed the mattress beneath him. "Right here," he repeated for emphasis.  
  
Ororo's face was earnest and beautiful at once. "I ask only one thing of you, Warren." He nodded. She held her thin arms up. "Just hold me. Stay with me for now."  
  
Warren needed no second invitation. He dipped gratefully into her embrace and held the hug for a long time. After they could feel their heartbeats pound together to the same steady rhythm, Warren shifted positions so he was beside her for fear of squishing her. She rested her head on his chest and he buried his face in her platinum locks, stroking her arms and loving every second of her touch.   
  
Warren woke with a start, momentarily forgetting where he was until he felt the gentle weight of her arms across his chest. They'd fallen asleep with the bedside light on, their bodies meshed together comfortably. Warren felt her shallow breathing against his side and he sighed, blissful and content. Her eyelids fluttered open and she yawned.  
  
"What time is it?" She mumbled, groggy.  
  
He peered over her head at the clock. "Almost two A.M." She sighed heavily and burrowed into his body. There was a brief pause.   
  
"Something wrong, Warren?" She asked.  
  
He shrugged slightly. "Just thinking." He faced her. "I guess I'm still irked about that whole Jean thing. I mean, it's bad enough she didn't come clean but I can't stand the fact that Scott lied! He's supposed to be our team leader, for Christ's sake. And my brother," Warren made a frustrated sound akin to disgust. "What the *hell* was that fool thinking? And Xavier!" Warren's face was flushed red as he seethed. "Don't you agree? Am I crazy for thinking this way?"  
  
Ororo stroked his chest, pausing thoughtfully before responding. She had hoped to stay out of the entire confrontation, but if it upset her lover, she could at least indulge him with her opinion. "I do not know Jean extremely well, but I do know she is a good person at heart. It is my belief that whatever Jean did was the result of desperation."  
  
"I guess so," he huffed, his fine mouth drooping ever so slightly into a most becoming frown.  
  
"Warren, I have always known that your wealth has never kept you deprived from the real world; why are you being so narrow-minded about this?"  
  
He would have taken immediate offense, and action, had it been anyone other than this woman. "I just don't agree with murder."  
  
After a while, the couple decided to just agree to disagree and they left the issue at that lest it should escalate, which neither of them was particularly keen on happening.   
  
Angel cleared his throat. "There's, uh, something I wanted to ask you. I didn't really think this... would be a good night, but..."  
  
Ororo knitted her brows and propped herself on an elbow to regard him. "What is it?"  
  
"Well I was just thinking... you know Bobby, well you know how he loves to run his mouth." He laughed sourly. "Well, he's been running his mouth off to our mother and father about you, how you're so wonderful and this and that," he grinned, "Which you are! Don't get me wrong, that's not what I'm saying."  
  
Ororo's eyes twinkled like clear-cut diamonds. "What *are* you saying, Mr. Worthington?"  
  
He sighed, defeated. "They want to meet you. Really badly, actually, and I promised them I would ask you about it."  
  
The African native nodded and Warren waited for a response. He was worried, to say the least, well aware of her previous experience with Wanda's parents and the very idea of 'meeting the parents' was traditionally a huge step in a relationship, one he did not want to pressure her into making and certainly did not want to scare her off with.  
  
"No pressure!" He said suddenly. "Only if you want to."  
  
She held his gaze. "I will seriously consider it. For you." She kissed him and the blonde billionaire suddenly couldn't remember which way was up.  
  
  
  
**  
  
Jean considered wallowing in self-pity in the secrecy, and safety, of her own room, far and clear from the wrath of a certain southerner. But if the Heartbreaker was one thing, it was damned stubborn.  
  
She knocked on the door and he answered almost immediately- had probably smelt her coming.  
  
Wolverine swung the door open and already his brows were furrowed as it was all he could do to keep from literally growling. "What the hell do you want, Jean?" He said slow and menacingly.   
  
She didn't need this shit. Gathering her courage, she straightened and stalked past him into his room. While he slammed the door behind her, she turned to face him confidently. "A few things, Logan." He perked an eyebrow. "But mainly one: how the hell did Rogue find out about me? I know you know and you're going to tell me before I leave this room."  
  
Well, that was subtle. She swallowed hard, hoping he didn't curse her to hell upon throwing her out. He did not. He stood, arms folded against his ribs and leaning on the back of his door. He regarded her coolly. "What makes you think I'm going to tell you a damned thing? I don't correspond with backstabbing murderers."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot, *your* past is squeaky clean. How foolish of me." She slapped her forehead in one unceremonious gesture.  
  
"I never said that, but you dig as deep as you want with your little connections, your cronies will never find an account where I betray my team- not a one."  
  
Jean balled her fists. "She wasn't on my team when I did it! I didn't even know her, believe me, if I had..." her voice trailed but her eyes still flashed an angry azure. Slowly, she calmed like waves subsiding to a sandy shore's embrace. "I'm only going to ask it one more time," she said shortly, her lips thinning into a tight line. Logan cocked his head in amusement but he remained silent and planted at the door. His eyes widened when she almost snarled. This woman had a temper like hell's fury. Heh, shoulda known. Redheads. Can't live with 'em, can not live without 'em.  
  
He was unprepared for the telekinetic shove, pinning his spine against the door behind him, but he wasn't about to let her know that. "What is this, Red?" He asked, cursing himself for being more than a little turned on.   
  
Jean was not feeling up to games or runarounds, not tonight. She wanted one answer and damned if she left without it. She neared him and came dangerously close to his face, her voice as serious as sin. "Do I have to remind you that I killed four men point blank, shot them in the head from not even this far away? Do you know the look in a man's eyes just before his blood and brain is splattered all over your face?" She paused for a long time. "I think you do, Wolverine. Tell me how Rogue found out."  
  
He held her level glare for a moment. He wasn't afraid, she may be gutsy but she wasn't that gutsy, or heartless, but he did feel a small swell of something at her threat. Despite the venom in her tone, it was really a confession. Jean was really a good kid and he knew she'd undoubtedly spent many a night tossing and turning in her sleep, begging forgiveness to her Great God for her sins. He felt respect? Pity? Empathy? The answer was yes, he knew the look in a man's eyes just before his life ended. Knew it well.  
  
Jean released him and staggered back, a tad weak. She rose pleading eyes to him and he only held her gaze. She stepped into him and he wrapped his arms around her smaller frame, stroking her head soothingly.   
  
She wasn't crying, but he could hear the emotion choke in her voice. "Does it ever get any easier? Or does it haunt you... haunt you forever?"  
  
He shook his head, her mass of red tangles surrounding his face. "It should never get easier. That's when you're not human. That's when you're the one we're here to fight."  
  
Jean lifted from his shoulder and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," she gestured, embarrassed. He shrugged it off.  
  
"Rogue has another power she chose not to disclose immediately for reasons that are, understandably, her own. She has the ability to absorb others thoughts, feelings, personality, powers, anything with physical contact. She must have made some contact with you after we were gassed and before we were divided. That's the only thing I can think of."  
  
Jean's eyes darted around the room as memories came flooding through her. She was falling to her knees and to the floor as the gas filled her lungs. She was being hauled off. She was being hurled into a... box? Chest? Coffin? Something small and beside Rogue, who was clad in the doll dress the team had found her in.   
  
"How have we never noticed it before?" Jean said, feeling guilty for talking about Rogue again behind her back but knowing it was essential.   
  
"Rogue has positive control over it unless she's unconscious. She doesn't like to flash it in the papers because some people don't take to kindly to the idea."  
  
"I'm sure Remy would understand."  
  
"But how the hell is she supposed to know that?" He snapped. Jean pursed her mouth.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said but unsure why. "So what made you decide to tell me this?" She asked softly.  
  
He shrugged. "You had a right to know. Just like Rogue had a right to know about you killing her fiancée. But two wrongs don't make a... right.  
  
  
**  
  
Rogue hurled a left hook at the defenseless punching bag. It swung on its small chain and she hit it again. And again.  
  
Fuckin' bastard Remy for not tellin' me. Make me the fool.  
  
And again.  
  
Bobby gossiping like a fuckin' woman behind my back. And he's supposed to *care* about me.  
  
And again.  
  
And Emma.  
  
And again.   
  
And Xaviah.  
  
And again.  
  
And that conniving little bitch, Jean. Again, harder this time. Rogue couldn't picture strawberry shortcake Jeannie holding a gun to her Caleb's face and pulling the trigger.   
  
Disgusted with the cooperative punching bag, Rogue stalked out of the gym, the doors slamming satisfyingly behind her.  
  
  
**  
  
Jean left Logan's room soon after. She should have felt better. Now she knew. But she felt worse. What the hell was Rogue thinking, not telling anyone about the full potential of her powers? She really could have gotten someone hurt! Jean didn't know if it was that or the fact that Xavier had kept it from her that made her angrier, and hurt. He had to have known. He knew everything about everyone that lived in his home. She decided, selfishly enough but she didn't care, that she didn't like being on the receiving end of Xavier's deception. What else did that man know?  
  
"Oooph!" Jean cried as she ran into someone stomping as fast as she. A pair of pretty, equally angry eyes met and the sky loomed above in warning. This was it.  
  
"Watch where yoah goin'!" Rogue screeched, hopping at the opportunity to pick a fight with this particular person.  
  
"You!" Jean retorted, only happy to oblige.  
  
Rogue's green eyes widened, this Jean being very different from the one begging her for forgiveness in the Briefing Room. "Who the hell do you think yoah talking to, Heartbreakah?" She spat the last word like arsenic.  
  
Jean rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh don't give me that. Apparently I'm not the only one spouting lies around here. When were you gonna tell Remy about your *other* little power, hmm? After a mistake happened and he winds up dead in your arms?"  
  
Rogue's face contorted furiously. "How the hell did you find out about that?"  
  
"Well, well, well. My how the tables have turned, now haven't they?"  
  
"Shut-up!" Rogue screeched.  
  
"Make me," Jean shot. She wasn't prepared for and thus thrown into a far wall by Rogue's lunging attack. Jean's body was slammed securely into the hall wall two feet above the ground and Rogue hovering to keep her face level while she pinned the redhead back.   
  
"Ah can't even believe you have the nerve to compare my lies to yoahs!" Rogue hollered only inches from her opponent's face.  
  
Jean threw Rogue off her with a telekinetic shove, sending Rogue flying back until the southerner stopped herself in mid-air. "I made one mistake and I regret it like hell, but you didn't just lie once and beg forgiveness, you lied once and begged forgiveness and now you're lying *again*! How many more secrets you got buried in that head of yours, Rogue? How many other people's lives are you living?" Jean's voice was almost a shout now. "Don't give me that holier than thou crap. You're a fucking vampire!" Jean threw Rogue back again but she was prepared this time, making an immediate counter attack. She backhanded Jean into another wall.   
  
"Yoah just trying to get me to feel like hell so Ah'll fohget you evah killed my fiancée. Don't try that shit with me!"  
  
Jean erected a telekinetic shield around her presence and then another, stronger telepathic shield flaring gold and claret around the both of them should anyone stumble upon them and get it in their heads to interrupt their long-time-coming battle. "How dare you bring that whole fiancée issue up like it meant anything to you! Need I remind you of your jumping right into bed with our resident Cajun or did that slip your cluttered mind? Your fiancée, give me a break!"  
  
Rogue was both infuriated and incredulous at once, her control slipping through her fingers. She soared through the air and tried to attack Jean again, but was fended off by the telepath's shield and bounced back with her own inertia. She bolted to a standing position. "You think that excuses what you did? Snap out of yoah rationalizations and face the consequences. Yoah a lying killer."  
  
Jean lunged at Rogue. The two women positioned the other's throats between their hands as they elevated six feet above the plush carpet. "Caleb was a killer!" Jean screeched, tightening her hands when Rogue's tightened. "A cold-blooded, mafia hit man whether you want to believe it or not. You just can't face the reality that you, an elite member of the Opal Meridian, were living with a sleezy gangster!"  
  
The breath left Rogue's body in one giant gust. No, it couldn't be. Not the Caleb she knew and loved. Loved. Unconsciously, her grip tightened around the lily white of Jean Grey's neck. She recalled strangling the life from one of Arcade's henchmen.  
  
Jean's eyes flashed across from her. Had she caught that fleeting thought? Rogue gulped. Had she been projecting it?  
  
"Blame me for my bloody past, Rogue, sure. Have *you* ever felt another man's life drain at your fingertips?"   
  
Both women were becoming increasingly dizzy from the other's assaults, their weakened state causing them to drop almost a whole four feet.  
  
"You have, haven't you? You know what else I think? You're a fucking hypocrite!" Jean screeched.  
  
Scott, Wanda, and Wolverine appeared in the hallway, the curious eyes of Bobby and Emma close on their heels.  
  
"Ladies, stop it!" Scott shouted above their quarrel but they were oblivious to anything but their own seething, black rage. Scott attempted to intervene but was slammed back by the pure force of Jean's mental bars protecting their combat.   
  
Between muttered curses, Jean and Rogue thrashed and kicked at each other, never losing their grip on the other woman's neck. Beads of sweat popped on their smooth foreheads and their eyes remained locked, piercing each other with blind hatred.   
  
Xavier's wheelchair appeared around the hall seconds later followed closely by Warren and Ororo. He rushed to where his team was gathered, watching in sickened fear. Upon seeing two of his respected team members engaged in combat, his jaw dropped while anger and disappointment flashed through his oil black eyes.   
  
"Stop this!" His voice bellowed as a psychic slam disabled the two women and sent them collapsing to the floor, clutching their heads. "What in God's name is the meaning of this?" He demanded, his eyes roaming the dented walls and disheveled women with gaping disbelief. Both Jean and Rogue were silent and seeing he would get no answers from them just now, even after deliberate prompting, he warned them that any further fights as such would result in their immediate dismissal from his home.   
  
Heads bowed in shame and feeling much like teenaged girls, both women stood and, after a final piercing glare at each other, headed to their separate rooms.  
  
  
**  
  
When she was with the girls, it was mint chocolate chip, but with her best pal Logan, it was Coors all the way. She popped the can and settled into the Lay-Z Boy in her room.  
  
He raised his own silver bullet. "Cheers," he growled before swallowing a considerable portion.  
  
Rogue downed the drink in record time and gave a satisfying belch. Fuck lady-like. That was always one thing she liked about Logan. With Remy- wherever the hell he'd disappeared to for the night- it was always silk and lace, but here with her long time partner and friend, it was an oversized tee-shirt and dirty white socks.  
  
He fiddled with his can tab for a minute before clearing his throat. "I know there ain't no sense in hiding the fact that I told Jean about your powers. I didn't know she'd go all berserk. Real sorry about that, Dixie."  
  
Rogue contemplated her reaction before promptly shrugging. "Fohget about it. The bitch woulda found out soonah or latah anyways." Another swig, because she deserved it. "You couldn't help it." She added casually.  
  
Wolverine perked an eyebrow. "What are you playin' at, Mississippi?"  
  
She grinned, but sadly enough, it was bitter. "Ah may be a tad outta practice, but Ah can still spot a few things. Like those eyes you've got for Jean, Ah can still see that."  
  
He shook his head but decided against protesting. He knew a dead end when he saw it. "I know, it's fucking humiliating." He paused and added. "But hey, you know that no matter what, I always got your back, right? Always."  
  
Rogue shook her head. "Yoah human, Wolverine. It is mah firm belief that everyone's heart has a mind of it's own, even if yoahs isn't the smartest one in the world." She winked.  
  
He shook his head. "Can't argue with ya' there."  
  
"Can't argue with me anywhere." She scrunched her eyebrows. "Where the hell is Remy? Ah just know he'll be mad as a swarm of hornets when he finds out what I did... and what he missed."  
  
Logan nodded and raised his fourth Coors, gesturing for her to do likewise. "To stupid hearts."  
  
"Stupid hearts."  
  
  
**  
  
HARRY'S POV  
  
  
Of all those Xavier guys up in that big old house, this kid was the last one I would have expected to see here drowning his sorrows with some of my cheapest drink.   
  
You see, I'm a watcher. I see all kinds of things here in my bar. Just from my sitting back and keeping my eyes peeled, I know that that Summers kid is having a hell of a time right now, what with having to pretend he isn't in love with that redheaded girl while being married to the *other* redheaded girl. Confusing, I know, but it gets better. While Summers is loving Redhead Number One, the Logan fellow is pining over her just as bad. Warren, killing himself trying to play suave and cool with that Aurora woman, or however you say her name- too fine for this old ratty tongue. And Bobby-boy, poor chap, saw that heartbreak coming from a mile away when he laid eyes on that southern belle.   
  
And that's only a little bit of it. I've seen some amazing things this side of the United States- good or bad, it's bound to come through this bar at least once.  
  
But this kid, this French playboy, I thought for sure he had it made. Looked to me like he finally had Miss. Mississippi after all that hard work. Shows what I *really* know I guess, 'cause here he is downing one after the other.  
  
"Something on your mind, fella?" I ask casually. Don't want to make it sound too personal. He'll tell me if he wants. No big deal either way.  
  
He looks up with a small smile, just trying to be nice, I know. He's about to say no, but he stops for some reason. "Ever been in love?"  
  
I got to chuckle at that one. "Sure, every pair of long legs and big eyes that walks in here and I'm in love."  
  
That gets a real laugh out of him, even though it wasn't exactly a side buster but I think he just needs a laugh. I stop polishing my bar for a second and stare him dead in the eye.  
  
"Listen, kid. It ain't goin' great now, but it'll get better." I pause. "Whatever it is, I know it'll get better. She'll come around." He smiles and I take that as a sign to give him some time to think it over. When I turn back around, he's gone, a crisp ten under one of his empty bottles.   
  
  
**  
  
Rogue was getting a bit tipsy, so he ushered her into bed and headed downstairs for the kitchen. Just because his partner didn't have a healing factor didn't mean he couldn't take advantage of it. If you've got it, flaunt it, he thought.  
  
He smelt Summers before he even stepped through the kitchen archway. He was alone and apparently digging through a cabinet for something.  
  
Wolverine sauntered in, dipping down to the refrigerator to fish for a beer. The two men were silent at first.  
  
Scott huffed gratefully when he finally retrieved a small bottle marked 'Tylenol.'   
  
"Headache?" Logan asked as he pried back the bottle cap.  
  
Scott nodded and prepared himself a glass of water. "Yeah."  
  
"Not getting enough sleep." His tone was slightly mocking, almost challenging. In all honesty, Wolverine was in the mood for a fight and though he knew Scott would never let himself be baited as such, he couldn't help but give it a shot.  
  
Scott shrugged. "Maybe." He met Logan's eyes wearily before tossing the pills onto his tongue and swallowing the water in two large gulps. He poured the cup and left it in the sink, turning on his heel to leave.  
  
"Yeah, go to bed," Wolverine piped and then added sharply, "with your wife."  
  
Scott froze in the doorway for an instant. He looked back at Logan's challenging glare but knew he could say nothing.  
  
  
  
**  
  
Scott credited himself for at least attempting to head back to his own room and try to get some sleep, but the detour was, in a word, inevitable. But it wasn't to make love this time, oh no. He was at her door to give her a piece of his mind.  
  
He knocked hard, twice. He heard the bed creak and he assumed he'd probably dragged her out of bed, but not out of slumber. There's no way she'd be able to sleep so peacefully after tonight. Hell, even he knew he'd have trouble and it wasn't even his fight. But Scott was a person that took the problems of his team as his problems, too.  
  
The door sung open and he took in her appearance. White cotton nightgown frumpy and crinkled, no doubt from her incessant tossing and turning, and her hair a wild red mess on her head and past her shoulders. Her eyes were dull but gleaming as if she'd recently cried, which Scott figured she probably had.   
  
"Can I come in?" He asked.  
  
She cocked her head in confusion. "I thought you were never speaking to me again," she taunted.  
  
"I never said that," he said shortly. "I only want to talk." He annunciated the last sentence perfectly so she knew precisely why he was at her door, just in case she was getting any crazy ideas. Not so crazy a few weeks ago, were they Summers? Scott silenced the nagging voice ringing between his ears.  
  
Jean stepped back and allotted him entrance. Once inside, she closed the door with a soft click behind him. He turned and saw her planted a few feet from her door, her posture unsure and timid. She must have caught the vibe that he wasn't here for another one of their silly little midnight flings but to really talk, or rather, discuss.  
  
"What is it?" She asked quietly.  
  
Scott sighed, his shoulders dropping considerably. He commenced pacing and ran a hand through his ginger thick hair. Finally he stopped and looked at her directly. "Did you tell Logan about us?"  
  
Jean looked as if taken by surprise, which made relief balloon inside Scott before it was stabbed with a needle of truth. "No," she said uncertainly.  
  
"No? So he has no idea about..." he gestured at the air between them. "You know, us?"  
  
Her head shot up. "There is no 'us,' remember? You've suddenly decided to grow a conscience."  
  
Jean could tell he was rolling his eyes by the incline of his head. "Don't start all that. Just answer the question: Does Wolverine know about our affair?"   
  
She inhaled deeply, bracing herself for the explosion. "Yes."  
  
Scott buried both hands in his hair and gritted his teeth, fighting for control. "How?" He asked simply.  
  
"After the first time, he smelt it... on me, I guess."  
  
"The fir-!" Scott peered around the room as if a hidden camera lurked in the shadows. "The first time! Are you serious? Why didn't you tell me!?" His voice was thin and rising. She put both hands in front of her and gestured for him to calm down.  
  
"What Logan and I talk about has nothing to do with you."  
  
His eyes grew large and maddened behind the ruby quartz. "Nothing to do... Oh my God. What is the matter with you?! I face ten times the consequences you do if the affair was ever discovered and it has nothing to do with me? I don't believe this!" He felt weak and so sank onto her plush canopy bed, rubbing his hands on his knees in a frantic thinking method.  
  
"Ten times the consequences! How dare you. I agree, you're the one with a wife, but do you know the humiliation and shame and filth I would feel? I'd be the cheap, trashy *other* woman! It almost amounts to the *regret* I feel now for having slept with you in the first place!"  
  
With her minimally practiced telepathy, she felt his heart sink a little at her piercing words. Behind his visor, she knew he blinked, astonished at her venomous lashings. He closed his gaping mouth immediately though and pretended it had never affected him, but it was too late. She had felt it. And now felt utterly terrible for having said it.  
  
"Oh Scott," she said, taking a seat beside him on the bed, "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."  
  
He jerked from her soft touch on his shoulder. "Don't touch me," he said, his eyes focused forward and jaw hard.  
  
Slightly taken aback but realizing she shouldn't be, Jean swallowed and tried again. She placed a hand on his forearm this time and dared to scoot closer to his tense form. "I'm serious, Scott. It was mean and... it wasn't true."  
  
"I said don't touch me," he said again, but didn't yank himself away which she took as a good sign.  
  
Scott's heart beat furiously in his chest and for that, he damned himself. All right, so he would stay and make amends for his wrongs and leave. No use ending their brief relationship with hateful words. "Jean, I'm sorry it has to end like this, but I should really go," he meant to say, but instead all that came out was a weak sigh to her hand traveling up his arm and through his hair. He unwillingly tipped his head back and flowed with her movements but promptly stopped and faced forward again.   
  
Jean straightened, defiant now and wanting very badly to hold him. But she knew Scott, knew him well, and he wasn't the type to throw caution to the wind and just kiss a woman in the throes of a heated moment. She had to ease him into it. She wanted to ease him into it; she wanted him. Sure in that one thing now, she was going to use any means necessary to get him. Even if it meant playing dirty.  
  
She climbed to her knees beside him and he turned to face her. "What do you think you're doing? Jean, I'm sorry but I thought I made it clear that I can't do this."  
  
"Why?" She asked softly, resting her hands on his shoulders and looking into the reflective glass of his visor with big questioning eyes that made his tongue grow wet.  
  
"God Jean, don't do this." He protested, almost begged. The sound of her name off his lips made her want even more.   
  
"Why?" She persisted.  
  
"Because... it's not... right." He breathed as she dipped down until their faces were almost touching. Her scent was overpowering and he hated to admit that he had longed for that aroma of her red curls, warm breath, velvety skin.   
  
"This isn't right?" She asked, nearing her cheek to his to drag her tongue across the shell of his ear. He guided her back before she could.  
  
"No, it's not. It's wrong because, because of Wanda."   
  
Jean sighed. "Wanda." She repeated flatly before touching her forehead to his chin. She just couldn't be face to face with him when she approached the subject that had kept her awake many a night. "I vaguely remember you saying that you loved me that time you cornered me in the Blackbird. Are you a liar, or what?"  
  
His breath left him sharply. "Wha-? No, not a liar. I just..." She stopped nibbling his chin and sat back.  
  
"You just what?"   
  
"I do... I do love you. God, why? Why do you make me?" He hated the sound of his own voice, desperate and weak, never the voice of a leader. But he didn't think leader or strategy or consequence when she was so close to him like this, her lips playing on his and in his arms. He didn't think at all. Just felt, felt pure, raw emotion coursing through his veins and all centered on her. He decided that it was because she was this total other end of the spectrum for him that he loved her. He had loved Wanda because she fit perfectly into his dutiful, practical, intelligent life. He loved Jean because she was... Jean.  
  
Wordlessly, he let her wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him sweetly. His hands rose to her hips as she slowly guided him down across the length of her bed, straddling his waist and tugging off her nightgown.   
  
Just as beautiful as he remembered her. "God," he murmured when she fell back to him so that he could kiss her and entangle his fingers in her long hair, feeling the strands dance on his collarbone and tickle his skin.   
  
  
**  
  
Wanda lied awake in their bed, content and knowing. As long as he's lying, he's mine, and I can live with that. I've been playing 'pretend the world is perfect' for as long as I can remember.   
  
Scott's wife thought about what she'd do if he ever gathered the courage to pour the truth on her: the awkwardness, the gossip, her parents, her friends, the utter humiliation. She shuddered, shoving the unthinkable thought to the back of her mind.   
  
Lie to me and I'll be satisfied. 


	13. The Red Prison

"Mmm, I love Tchaikovsky," Emma purred, fine blonde hairs splaying across Bobby's chest as she burrowed against him.   
  
He'd been awake long before the alarm clock went off, the fluid notes of Piano Concerto No.1 First Movement wafting through the large room and enveloping the two young people like the thin white sheet draped over their nude bodies. Bobby sighed. "I hate him."  
  
She scoffed, pulling herself up from him and yawning gracefully. She tucked the sheet under her arms as she scanned the room for her scattered artifacts of clothing.   
  
Bobby didn't feel like rising just yet. Instead he lied with one arm under his head as he stared at the ceiling. Sighing loudly, he kicked his sheets off and rolled on his side to slam the alarm clock off. He really didn't like Tchaikovsky. The thought pulled his ice blue eyes to Emma as she buttoned a blouse over her bra and panties. Elegant, prestigious, refined- Emma would love Tchaikovsky.  
  
It was the same every time, and it happened often. It'd usually be late, and the day uneventful, and he'd receive a knock at his door, or they'd run into each other somewhere, and once he even wandered over to her room. They'd talk a little, sometimes have a drink, but it always ended up the same way. Entangled limbs, frantic hands, insistent mouths, until they would finally just surrender to the inevitable on one or the other's bed.   
  
It wasn't love. Sometimes it wasn't even like. But it was there, about once every week or so. Bobby wasn't sure what Emma's reasons were, why she played along with their little runaround, but he knew is. No, it wasn't love. It was just... need. He figured the feeling was mutual. And if Emma had no problem having sex- for that's precisely what it was: sex- with a guy that was almost five years younger than her, then who the hell was he to complain? Bobby yawned again, watching her head for his bedroom door.   
  
He returned her weak smile before she slipped out of his room and the door clicked softly behind her slim, retreating form.  
  
  
**  
  
Warren tied the black silk robe at his waist while stumbling groggily down the wide staircase. His bare feet hit the cool tile with a light thud and he padded in to the kitchen. He paused in the doorway when he saw a crown of scarlet peeking from behind the counter. Her head popped up almost immediately, obviously having sensed him.   
  
"Warren!" Jean exclaimed, setting down her frying pan on the stove. "What are you doing up so early? It's my Sunday to make breakfast."  
  
He moved to the fridge and retrieved a carton of eggs, some slices of cheese, and a green pepper. "I know but I decided to make Ororo some breakfast instead and bring it up."  
  
Jean's brows furrowed and she turned from mixing pancake batter. "Is she feeling alright?"  
  
"She's fine." He chuckled lightly to himself. "Exhausted." He added, amused.   
  
Jean perked an eyebrow. "Ah," she said, turning back to her creations on the stove. She scooted a few steps to the left to allot Warren some room. "Here, don't be shy. You can make whatever you're making right here." She flung the spatula at the stovetop to her right, specks of batter splattering on the counter. "Oops, I'll get that later." She smiled.  
  
Warren hesitated but eventually stood beside her. An awkward silence was interrupted with the occasional sizzle of one of Jean's hot pancakes or the scrape of metal on metal as Warren expertly flipped his omelets. Between pancakes, Jean pulled her long strands into a ponytail and cleared her throat nervously.  
  
"Angry with me, too, Warren?" She blurted.  
  
He rested his hand on the counter for a second's thought before resuming flips. "Can't say I'm elated with the thought of any murderer. Nothing personal, it just... is." He shrugged, meeting her eyes.  
  
She nodded. "That's all?"  
  
Had she sensed there was more, Warren wondered. Can she read my mind right now? He shook off the uneasy edge and decided to just be frank with her. He leaned a narrow hip against the counter ledge and crossed his arms. "I admit, I think it bothered me more that Scott lied to us all that time. I understand that you confided in him and trusted him not to disclose your personal information, but as far as I'm concerned it affected the whole team and we had a right to know. How can I follow a man into battle and trust him with the right decisions to save my life if I can't even trust him to tell me when I'm rooming with..." his pitch lowered, "a killer."  
  
Jean was quiet for a moment, taking the fork from him and flipping his forgotten omelet. That done, she set the utensil down and tightened her white robe around her tank top and pajama pants. Tilting her head to the side, she opened her mouth to speak, decided against it, and promptly closed it again. Fidgety now, she moved her hands from her robe to settle on her hips. She looked down at the floor and traced a tile with her toe, painted apple red. Head down and voice barely audible, she said, "When you say it like that, Warren, you make it sound so...." She lifted her eyes to meet his, "professional."  
  
He cocked his head quizzically. "Go on."  
  
She sighed, straightening with what appeared to be a swell of confidence. "Well, you're in love with Ororo, aren't you?"   
  
He hadn't expected that. "Uh, wh..., yea." He coughed. "Yes. I love her." He admitted with a firm nod.  
  
"You must know what it feels like when your lover asks a favor of you. When you love them, no task is too colossal. If Ororo asked you, if she looked at you with her big, swimming eyes and asked you to," Jean put a finger to her lips, "shhhh, keep a secret, you would without a second thought, wouldn't you?"  
  
Warren stood dumbly.  
  
"Wouldn't you?!"  
  
"Yes! Yes, I would, I just... Jean, are you admitting to an affair between you and Cyclops?"  
  
That devouring gaze again and large, innocent eyes. "All I'm saying, Warren, is that Scott... granted me a favor." Her finger pressed to her lips again. "He kept a secret. And I know *we're* not lovers, but I'm asking you to keep a secret, too... as a friend."  
  
He held her gaze for a cool, unsure moment. He nodded finally. "Damn, all right."  
  
Jean let out a breath she hadn't been conscious of holding. "Thank you so much." She grinned, going back to her frying pan. Warren did the same, shoveling his second omelet onto his plate and sinking the pan into the soapy dishwater.   
  
"Oh and Jean," he added on the way out, "Do me a favor: wash this pan for me, would ya'? As a friend." He grinned when she stuck her tongue out and hurried back up the stairs to the woman *he* loved.  
  
  
**  
  
Jean was just finishing rinsing the fruit around ten a.m. when sleepy household members began stumbling into the room in scattered groups.  
  
Professor, who had been awake for nearly two hours already, was the first to arrive, wheeling into the room already clad in a full suit and a pleasant, warm smile on his face. "Good morning, Jean."  
  
"Good morning, Charles!" Jean chirped, placing a hot plate of eggs on the table. "Help yourself! I hope everything is still warm."  
  
He accepted a cup of coffee. "It looks wonderful but I think I'll just start with some toast, thank you." He began buttering two pieces when Wolverine stalked in wearing jeans and a simple black tee shirt, plopping unceremoniously into a seat.  
  
"Good morning, Logan."   
  
He grunted a greeting of some sort before piling helpings on his plate. As an afterthought, he plucked a small green grape from the fruit platter in the table's center and popped it in his mouth. Jean slapped his hand.  
  
"You will have some manners at my table, mister." She chastised, planting one hand on her hip and wagging the fruit tongs at him with the other.  
  
He held her eyes firmly as a claw sliced from his knuckle and stabbed into a strawberry, bringing it back to follow the grape into his mouth. Her eyes opened to big blue circles and her jaw hung agape.   
  
"You'll pay for that," she muttered as more people shuffled into the room.  
  
"I hope I do," he retorted with a growl. She chose to ignore him, but he knew she heard.  
  
Xavier smiled at his two students before welcoming the others to sit and eat. "Jean has provided a most appetizing breakfast for us this Sunday morning."  
  
Rogue, in a sleeveless green nightshirt, sat down, rubbing bleary green eyes. Remy was not far behind and jumped at the opportunity to take a seat directly beside her. She pinned annoyed eyes on him and immediately stood, pushing back her chair and circling the table to sit somewhere else. Remy followed her movement with dark, smoldering eyes but made no attempts to follow.   
  
"Where's Warren?" Bobby asked as Emma quietly took a seat beside him. "And Storm?"  
  
"Your brother and 'Ro are upstairs. They won't be joining us this morning." Jean smiled at the thought of Warren slaving over a stove to cook her breakfast in bed. She had to hand it to the beautiful windrider; she had him whipped.  
  
Scott and Wanda entered. He wore a fitting white tee shirt and long plaid pajama pants that Jean found simply adorable. But a pang of hurt stabbed through her at the patches of negligee peaking out from under Wanda's robe. Jean recognized it as the same item she'd helped Wanda pick out a few weeks ago. Had she made good use of it last night?  
  
"Help yourself, everybody, there's plenty to go around!" Jean said, seating herself across from Scott and his wife for the sole purpose of tempting fate. She couldn't be sure, but she got the impression he was watching her from over the rim of his coffee mug.  
  
Breakfast began basically quiet, the occasional "please" and "thank you"s for the salt, or the ketchup, or a refill on orange juice.   
  
Rogue was the picture of laidback serenity on the outside, but inside she was fuming and more than a little confused. Was it not only a few days ago Jean was revealed to be a cold-blooded killer? And here they were, chatting and laughing it up and devouring her food without a second thought. They were the fuckin' Roman Republic! Rogue stabbed angrily at her defenseless French toast with her fork. She was angry at them for being so easily won over by a few hotcakes, angry at Jean for succeeding in her obvious plan, angry at herself for not being able to just laugh and enjoy it with them, angry because she couldn't get over it. Was she being irrational? No! No, I'm not. Jean's the Heartbreaker. Period.  
  
"Something wrong with your food, Rogue?" Came the culprit's voice, small and tentative from across the table.  
  
Rogue didn't look up from her plate. "Just being careful, is all."  
  
Jean's face contorted, confused, while the rest of the table silenced as the air became thick and heated. "What is that supposed to mean?"  
  
Rogue fell back in her chair, looking at Jean. "It means Ah'm makin' sure it ain't poisoned!" She snapped, regretting it immediately. She hadn't meant it, but it sure as hell struck a chord with the rest of the damned table. Aw, hell.  
  
Jean's breath left her body sharply, disgusted and hurt all at once. "Go to hell," Jean hissed, bowing her head to her plate and continuing her nibbling on a melon slice.  
  
Rogue's fork fell to her plate with a clatter. Scott's jaw clenched, hoping Xavier would intervene before he found himself defending Jean. "Ah just bet yah're waitin' to put me there," Rogue shot back, her tone climbing.   
  
"Damn it Rogue, give it a rest," Scott's voice barked. He bit his tongue.  
  
The southern beauty rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't even go there, Cyke. Ah don't know who the hell you think yah're foolin'." Her blazing green eyes shifted from Jean to him then back to Jean.  
  
Wanda, for her part, pretended to look confused. Her heart pounded furiously. Oh God, no, no, no. Shut-up, Rogue. Shut-up. Not here. Not ever!  
  
"That's enough. I wish to enjoy my breakfast in peace." Xavier's rich baritone floated across the table.  
  
After a few seconds of silence, Jean slid back her chair, her head still bowed, swiping quickly at her eyes with the heel of her palms. She stood silently and quickly made her way from the kitchen as her teammates looked after her.  
  
"Typical," Wanda scoffed. She briefly met her husband's eyes through the ruby visor, daring him to follow after her.   
  
Rogue sighed, her stomach swimming sickeningly and her head throbbing with a dull ache. "Sorry, professah," she muttered, no longer in the least bit hungry.  
  
  
**  
  
"Don't sweat it 'Ro. They'll love you." Bobby stated, tapping the croquet ball with his mallet. "Look, if I know my parents, which I should, I know they're not interested in wealth or prestige or social background. They just want someone that'll make War happy, and believe me, *you* make him happy."  
  
Ororo's loose pants billowed in the breeze as she dug a bare toe into the plush green grass. "Oh Bobby, of course it *sounds* easy. It seems with all that time and money and hard labor your parent's have put into you and Warren, they'd only want the very best- brains, beauty, *and* bank accounts."   
  
The young blonde shook his head, swinging the mallet from side to side. "Come on, Ororo. My parents may not be perfect but give them a little credit. You make it sound like they're shallow, mindless snobs."  
  
"I'm sorry, Bobby. Please don't think that's what I'm trying to say. I suppose I'm just...nervous." The African goddess felt foolish, which was a rarity on its own. She was simply worried of the impression she would make on Warren's parents. She knew it wasn't fair to assume they would only be interested in who she was and where she was from, but she wanted to be prepared for anything.   
  
"Hey," Bobby piped, slinging an arm around her shoulder, "Don't you worry your pretty head off. You said my parents would want the very best for Warren; gorgeous, you *are* the best."  
  
At that Ororo smiled. "Thank you, Bobby."  
  
He shrugged. "What are shmucks for? Aw man, I just remembered... if you see Warren first, tell him it's his week to write Mom and Dad."  
  
Ororo nodded. "Why do you do that? Write your parents?"  
  
Bobby shrugged. "I dunno. I don't think it's a big deal but Warren hates it. He always thought he was too cool for stuff like that, even now at twenty-five. Hell, I'm only two years younger and I don't really care. It's just inconvenient, really." He peered up at the sun, shading his glittering blue eyes. "The way I see it: it's our dad's money that even got us here in the first place, and if he wants to know what's happening around the place, well, what do I care?"  
  
"Do your parents know about the X-Men?"  
  
"Nah, they just think Xavier's place is a school to teach mutants how to use their powers a little more. They're not privy to all the superhero junk." He grinned. "Our mother would flip her lid."  
  
The pair headed back to the mansion, taking their considerable time to talk. They enjoyed each other's company, though neither could tell you when that little revelation came about. But every so often, they took time out with each other to catch up on any old thing- trading advice, providing helpful hints on the opposite sex, or just indulging in a good game of tennis, cards, or- in today's case- croquet.  
  
"So how's Emma, Bobby?" The corners of Ororo's cherry lips turned up into a small smile.  
  
He huffed, tearing a leaf from an extended branch as they walked on. "You just can't keep your nose out of it, huh?" He grinned. "She's alright, I guess."  
  
"Just alright?"  
  
"Geesh Ororo, we're not married. It's just..."  
  
"Just sex." Ororo finished.  
  
He spun to face her. "Oh c'mon. You've never had 'just sex?' Albeit good sex, but 'just sex', all the same."  
  
Ororo's face fell a little. No, she didn't ever want to have 'just sex' again. She'd had enough of that shit growing up, from the tender and oh-so-goddamned naïve age of thirteen.  
  
Bobby brushed a comforting hand against her mocha elbow. "Hey, sorry. I didn't mean any-"  
  
"It's all right." She said quickly. "It's not your fault."  
  
He halted, guiding her back with his hand. He held her shoulders until she met his eyes. "It's not yours, either. You know?" She blinked at him for an instant and nodded, smiling weakly to fend off the embarrassment. "You know?" He repeated, firmer this time.  
  
She shrugged from his hold and continued forth. "I know, Robert!" She turned back to him again and grinned. "You're a trip."  
  
"Trip? Trip?!" His eyes doubled and his mouth contorted. "Oh! Woaaahh! Woah!" His legs melted under him and he stumbled to the ground. "Oh Ororo! Tripped! Tripped!" He grinned up at her between cries. "Help me up!" He exclaimed, reaching a hand. "Help me! Tripped!"  
  
She shook her head and continued forth. "Get yourself up, smartass," she chuckled.  
  
"Oh, she leaves me here! La Belle Dame Sans Merci!" He wailed, beginning to army crawl to her, his belly sliding on the ground as his elbows dug into the soft earth.   
  
She laughed again. "Robert Drake, you are this close from getting your dumb ass kicked!"  
  
  
**  
  
"We really gotta stop meeting like this, Red."  
  
CLINK  
  
"You followed me in here, cowboy."  
  
CLINK  
  
"I hope you weren't aiming for three ball corner pocket."  
  
"Nope, two ball side pocket."  
  
"Yeah right. Call it blind luck where I come from."  
  
CLINK  
  
"And where's that?"  
  
He picks up a cue stick of his own. "Oh, are we playing 20 Questions, again?"  
  
She leans over the table, not exactly dipping slow and sinful but he can't help but look just the same. She doesn't answer.   
  
CLINK  
  
"We gonna play for real this time? No more of that hustling shit you pulled on me before." He chalks his stick.  
  
She stands, sliding a hand to her creamy cheek. "Why, whatever do you mean?" She grins wickedly and he can't help but match it. "Alright, Logan, no more games. I'll play for real if you play for real."  
  
She immediately sank the one ball. Logan raised his bushy eyebrows.  
  
"Impressive. But can she do it again?"  
  
Jean scoffed. "Ha. Just watch me." A playful smile spread across her pretty features. She bent again and shot, swift and purposeful. Flawless. Four ball corner pocket. Seven ball side pocket. Six ball corner pocket.   
  
"And now, Logan, I shall shoot the three ball, corner pocket." She steadied herself. It was at an awkward angle, forcing her to lean heavily into the table. Brows furrowed in concentration, she slid the cue smoothly back and forth.   
  
She was unprepared for Logan's hot breath tickling her ear, his powerful chest grazing her back, when he whispered throatily, "Go for it."  
  
Instead of jumping and slamming into the ball with her cue, as he had intended, she turned her face slowly until they were inches apart, staring deep and long into each other's eyes.   
  
He could hear her heart thrash, feel her pulse quicken under her skin, taste her warm breath heavy on his own rough lips, see her hands gripping the edges of the pool table behind her.  
  
He leaned in, clearly seeing himself pressing hard against her velvet red lips in a kiss he swore would leave them both weak. His lips brushed hers at first, savoring the weak gasp from her mouth.  
  
She jerked her face away, his unprepared mouth diving into her neck. Surprised, Logan straightened and gave her a quizzical look. She shook her head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Logan." There was a beat's pause until she softly croaked. "I love him." Her voice was thick with emotion and Logan simply nodded, backing away from her.  
  
Jean slid from her tight position between his strong body and the billiard table.   
  
"You know," he said, his voice a dark contrast to the permeating silence. "A real man wouldn't hide you in the shadows." His words were quick and sharp, not meant to be cruel, just truthful. And they were. They both knew they were.  
  
"I know." She swallowed. "He's going to tell her."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Soon. I don't know, but he will. I think we're both sick of creeping around."  
  
He nodded, hanging his cue and making way towards the door. "As long as he's what you want. And he gives you what you want."  
  
Logan gone and Jean frustrated, she sank the eight ball in one loud SMACK.  
  
  
**  
  
Don't get him wrong; Remy could drink. A man just needed something virgin every once in a while. The sensual Cajun sipped his apple juice.  
  
He sat at the small kitchen table for snacks and quick lunches. Had he not been drowning his misery in something that was "a hundred percent juice for a hundred percent kid," or wallowing in his own self-pity, he might have heard Rogue at the doorway. Needless to say, he did not.  
  
The southern pistol huffed upon seeing him as if he'd purposely placed himself in the kitchen so she would stumble across him. She turned on her heel to make an exit but he had noticed her arrival by now.   
  
"Wait, wait! Get back 'ere." He placed his glass down on the table and turned fully in his seat to regard her. "Come. Sit. Stay a while."  
  
She hesitated. Hell no, her brain said. But damn if her stupid heart didn't pipe up.  
  
He grinned, clearly aware of her teetering response. "Hungry, aren't ya? I'll make ya' something. Come on. Sit down." The chair across from him scooted back as if by its own accord.   
  
She sighed, shaking her head but sitting anyway. "I want fruit."  
  
Remy stood, approaching the fruit bowl. "Peach." He stated simply before tossing it in her direction.   
  
She caught it with one hand, her eyes never leaving his. He grinned. "Not bad, chere."  
  
She fingered the fruit, feeling its soft fuzz under her sensitive fingertips.   
  
Remy avoided a silent, awkward moment by immediately retrieving a pack of cards from an inside pocket of his trademark duster. He began to deal.  
  
"How can you be sure there's fifty-two?" She asked, regarding that there was no case. He paused, a card hovering above the table facedown in his hand.   
  
"You want to count 'em?"  
  
Rogue rolled her eyes. "What are you playin'?"  
  
"*We're* playing gin. I trust you know how to play."  
  
"And win." She retorted, rising to fetch a knife from the silverware drawer. "And Ah don't have to cheat, eithah."  
  
A shocked expression spread across his chiseled features. "I do not cheat." He continued dealing until she had eleven cards and he ten.  
  
Rogue cut her peach into thick slices and laid them on a plate. "Then take yoah dustah off."  
  
"My duster?" He asked, stealing a piece of her fruit. She smacked his hand and he dropped it on contact.   
  
"Yeah, yoah dustah. Gawd only knows what you keep hidden up those sleeves!"  
  
He shook his head, standing to shrug the jacket off his thin shoulders. He balled it up and tossed it to her. She caught it midair. "Happy?"   
  
"Ecstatic," she replied, glancing down to fan her cards in her hands. It wasn't much, but it was enough to start with. She discarded an Ace of Hearts. Always start big and work your way down.  
  
His eyes grew. "An ace! The Ace of Hearts!" He scarfed the card immediately. "You never, *ever* discard an ace- especially not the Ace of Hearts."  
  
She stared blankly at him. "Yah done? Good, your discard."   
  
Remy randomly plucked a card from his hand and discarded. "So, chere. When are we gonna run away from this silly place and get married?"  
  
She scoffed. "The day Cyke finally gets the balls to tell Wanda he's fuckin' Jeannie."   
  
"Dat a promise?"  
  
"No. Yoah discard."  
  
Remy blinked at his cards. What were they playing again? He threw down an eight, or something. "So what'll it take?"  
  
Rogue eyed her cards somberly. "Fohget it, Cajun-boy. I don't marry men that stab me in the back."  
  
"So knowing what you know now, you wouldn't marry dat Caleb boy if he came back tomorrow?" It was risky, he knew, but Remy was a professional at risky.  
  
Rogue's jaw dropped a little but she quickly recovered. "He's not coming back. Jean made shoah of that."  
  
"But if he did, Rogue. If he did. He lied to you all dat time, pretending to be an artist or whatever."  
  
"He *was* an artist." She said coldly.  
  
He shrugged. "Maybe. But dat's not all he was. He didn't tell you de rest of it and I t'ink dat hurts you more dan de fact dat Jean was de one dat killed him."  
  
"I didn't ask you what you think. Discard."  
  
Without looking at his hand, he dropped a card onto the pile. "Well what do you t'ink?"  
  
She sighed, pinching her nose between thumb and forefinger. There was a silence before she finally raised her head and peered into his eyes. "Really wanna know?"  
  
He nodded gravely. "I do."  
  
"Ah want to get ovah it. Ah want to just fohgive Jean like everyone else. Ah know Ah don't have to like her, but Ah want to at least be civil towards her, at least in Xaviah's home. But Ah just can't. Ah can't. It makes me feel like Ah'd be betraying Caleb's memory if Ah did that." Remy didn't mention the nights he and Rogue shared each other's bed. He didn't have to. "Ah'm Ah being childish and stubborn because Ah don't fohgive her yet? Ah feel like Ah'm beating a dead horse sometimes."  
  
Remy fingered the edges of his ten cards. "He was a killer. We know dat now. Maybe you're not angry wit' Jean for killing Caleb; maybe you're angry wit' her for shattering the image you had of him, non?" She was silent. "But don't t'ink you have to run and forgive her right away just because dose around you have no problem wit' her, just ask yourself: How much can I blame her? If it were my papa, would I have done de same t'ing? And Jeannie didn't even know you at de time, so you can't take it personally."  
  
Rogue swallowed hard, her mind swimming in his words.   
  
Remy avoided another uncomfortable silence. "Discard."   
  
She shook her head, blinking at her cards as if wondering where they came from. "Oh," she said finally, and placed a card on the pile face down. "Gin."  
  
He nodded. "Good game."  
  
**  
  
Jean sat up against her pillows. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Scott shifted his weight onto the other foot. "Wanda's gone." He cleared his throat. "She, uh, is allowed one day of splurging every month with Daddy's money."   
  
She cocked an eyebrow and remained silent as if waiting for further explanation. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "So... can I borrow your hairdryer?" He grinned and Jean went weak. She climbed to her knees on the bed and held out her arms. He rushed into her embrace and she pressed her mouth hungrily against his open lips.   
  
  
  
Her head cradled in the crook of his arm an hour later, Jean toyed with his navel with pearl-lacquered fingernails. She felt his thick fingers tangle lazily in her hair as their breathing stabilized to a matching steady rhythm.   
  
"Jean," he said suddenly, his voice husky and dry and low. "Do you have nightmares? About the murders, I mean."  
  
His question caught her by surprise. She sighed, pulling herself off him and sitting up. He followed her, his hands resting on her hips from behind. She leaned into him, her back against the hard muscles of his chest. His mouth grazed her temple. "You don't have to." He stated.  
  
She nodded against him. "Not just about the murders I committed. I have nightmares about a lot of murders." Jean paused, trying to reword her sentence eloquently but quickly realized that when discussing murder there really was no 'eloquent' wording. "I dream about my murders, but I also dream about the murders they committed. All those people *they* killed. I don't know if that's my guilt or my own way of rationalizing what I did. Sometimes I even dream about my father's murder." Jean became quiet and Scott squeezed her gently. "It felt like something I had to do," she continued. "Of course I knew I could go to the police, but that would get me nowhere. Not only would I have to rat my family out, but the likeliness of the Gestessi's paying for their crimes was slim to none. As powerful as that family was, I had no doubt that they were pulling strings in the police department. I had to take matters into my own hands, not only for my father, though that was always my driving force, but for the families of all the people they had killed before. And if I ever go before a judge to tell him what I just told you, I don't care if the jury doesn't believe my reasons and that they weren't entirely selfish, because it's the truth."  
  
Scott wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his lips against her shoulder and neck. Jean tilted her head to the ministrations. "Scott," she breathed. He positioned her hair over one shoulder and his mouth traveled to the base of her neck. Jean felt him pressing into her back. She turned, framing his face with her hands.   
  
"Scott, when are you going to tell Wanda?"  
  
Untangling himself from her lovely limbs, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Soon," he sighed. "Soon."  
  
Jean's arms encircled his neck. "When?"  
  
He turned to face her until she saw her enlarged reflection in his glasses. "Today," he declared. "I promise."  
  
  
**  
  
Professor Charles Xavier shifted through various travel documents on his large oak desk. "Come in, Scott."  
  
Cyclops swung the heavy door open and entered his mentor's office at a brisk walk. "You asked to see me?"  
  
"Yes, please, sit. As you know, I'm to be away for the weekend for Bardley's Annual Genetics Conference."  
  
In perfect honesty, Scott had forgotten about the conference but soon remembered that the professor did indeed leave every year around this time.   
  
"This is just a very basic schedule that I require be followed Monday through Friday. And after calculating everyone's hours in the Danger Room, I have comprised this list of how many hours I expect each member to put in while I am away. Some more than other's as it depends on how many more they must put forth to achieve the optimal amount at the end of the month." Scott peered down the list of names and hour numbers. Having already clocked in the preferred number of hours- and then some- his had none.  
  
"Alright, sir. Not a problem."  
  
Xavier smiled. "I trust everything will go smoothly."  
  
Scott nodded. "I have no doubt. Even if they don't, we'll handle it."  
  
The professor nodded, gathering a few papers and slipping a paperclip on them. Scott rose to leave. "Sit down please, Scott. There's one more thing I wished to speak with you about."  
  
Scott blinked behind ruby quartz, his mind already reeling as he slowly returned to his seat. "What is it, Professor? Is everything all right?"  
  
Charles opened his mouth but closed it, deciding again how to word his sentence. "I understand that a heart has a right to its own decisions, and I understand that she is very beautiful and I have no doubt that you'll be very happy together."  
  
Scott's breath escaped his body as fast as air leaves a balloon. "Professor, I'm sor-"  
  
"But I will not tolerate adultery in my home." His voice was still warm, assuring his surrogate son that he was not angry with him but simply requesting that he make a decision.   
  
Scott nodded. "I understand. I apologize, professor, it was never my intention to insult you or disregard your morals."  
  
"It's alright, Scott. The hardest part has yet to come for you, I fear."  
  
Scott's face was grim.   
  
  
**  
  
"So you made up yoah mind yet about meeting Warren's parents or what?"  
  
Ororo and Rogue indulged in an evening run around the estate as the sun slipped from her mighty position in the sky. "Yes, I have. I've decided to meet them. Warren has been nothing but kind to me and if he asks this favor of me, I will not refuse."  
  
Rogue swallowed hard, nodding her head as her high ponytail bobbed behind her. "Guh. Tha's good," she panted.   
  
"And what of you? Have you been making any decisions as of late?" Ororo regarded her with a small smile and sidelong glance.   
  
Rogue shrugged, becoming air-bound for a few steps. Ororo shook her head. "Eh-eh, Rogue. That's cheating!" Rogue huffed, her feet making contact with the earth again and pounding on the dirt.  
  
"Yeah, Ah've been doing some thinking," she said, referring to Storm's previous question.   
  
"And?"  
  
"And Ah think Ah'm gonna give the swamp rat anothah chance."  
  
"What brought you to this decision?" Ororo asked, mildly amused.  
  
"Ah dunno. Ah guess Ah figured that if you could fohgive him, Ah could shoahly fohgive him, ya know? Besides, I kinda miss him, Ah think. *And*, he didn't freak out or anything when he found out about my powahs." Rogue shrugged, slowing near the main entrance. "And that's always a plus."  
  
Ororo grinned. "Look at us, gossiping like a bunch of schoolgirls."   
  
Rogue sighed, shaking her head. She cocked a russet brow. "Race ya' to the door?"  
  
"You're on."  
  
They took off at a furious speed, both eventually using their power of flight by the time they finally reached the door.  
  
"Ah win."  
  
"I win."  
  
  
**  
  
"Wanda? Home already?"  
  
His wife spun from the full-length mirror. "Already? Goodness, Scott, I've been gone almost six hours!"  
  
He grinned, rolling a shoulder. "Heh, lost track of time I guess." He stared at her in the mirror. She met his eyes slowly.  
  
"What is it?" She asked smoothly.  
  
He removed his hands from his pockets and held her arms. She turned, startled. "God Scott, what's gotten into you?"  
  
He didn't release her. "We need to talk. I have to tell you something, actually." He guided her to their bed where he sat her down. "This is important, Wanda, so you might want to sit down."  
  
She shot up from her position. Oh my God. He's actually thinking about going through with it. The nerve of the bastard!  
  
"Wanda, please, sit down."  
  
"No." She said shortly. He paused, his arms still grasping her shoulders.   
  
"What?"  
  
"No," she repeated. "I don't want to hear it."  
  
He shook his head quickly. "You don't understand, Wanda. We have to0"  
  
"No," she wrenched form his hold. "Get off me!"  
  
"Wanda for God's sake! Listen!"  
  
"I don't want to hear it!" She shouted. He stopped, shocked. "I never want to hear it! Just don't. Don't ever!" She stormed from their room. Scott considered following her but decided against it.  
  
What the hell was that?  
  
  
**  
  
Dear Mom and Dad,  
  
Let's see; Bobby wrote last week, so guess whose honor and privilege it is this week? I'm only kidding (mostly).   
  
How are you two? Did you get that whole affair with Rosella straightened out? Xavier left for a genetics conference or some such thing last night. Scott says he'll be gone all weekend. Other than that, things are fairly quiet. So far there's been no accounts of burglaries, kidnappings, murders, or anything of that sort. Ha Ha. Why would there be? Nope; fairly quiet- like I said.  
  
Bobby and I are fine. Since he's taken it upon himself to so graciously inform you of my significant other, I feel it is not only my luxury but my duty to inform you that he too has developed an interest in someone. Her name is Emma Frost. Dad, you might have even heard of her father. He owns Frost Enterprises. I thought she was one of Robert's many "conquests" as he so elegantly termed it once, but apparently they're seeing more and more of each other. Uh-oh, watch out, Mother. That's both of your boys slowly sailing away from you.  
  
Which reminds me, Ororo has agreed to visit next weekend. I'm not sure if Bobby is coming yet or not. I don't even think he knows.  
  
I'm sorry this is so short but I really must run.   
  
Love to Both of You,  
  
~Warren  
  
P.S. I don't think I have to tell you that Ororo means a lot to me and she's very nervous about meeting you two, so please be on your best behavior. Mom, I think you're finally going to meet the one worthy of your firstborn. Ha Ha. Love you.  
  
  
**  
  
Wanda contemplated going all out: a bottle, pills, lipstick on the mirror- the works. But she just couldn't. Admittedly, she was dramatic, but she wasn't stupid. Suicide was weak. Period.  
  
So she opted for the other way out. She packed her bags.  
  
Tossing the last of her make-up into her cosmetic bag and throwing it into her toiletry suitcase, she picked up the phone at her bedside and dialed 411. "A cab service, please." She said coolly into the receiver. "I don't care which one."  
  
Five minutes later, she gathered her suitcases at her door and turned to peer over the room one last time, triple-checking that not one article of her being remained. Scott wanted to leave her for Super Tramp, fine. He'd never have to think about her again. Damned if she cared. Damned if she did. Damn. Damn. Damn.  
  
Who the hell did he think he was, anyway, trying to break the news to her this morning? But she'd show him. She'd beat him at his own game. No, he wasn't leaving her, god damn it. *She* was leaving *him*. There was no way in hell she'd let herself be made the laughing stock of the mansion. Or worse, the pity dog. She could see it now- everyone shaking their head and giving her sympathetic eyes. She quivered at the thought. Disgusting.  
  
She did leave Scott a note, and as much as the shade Hungarian Rose tempted her, it wasn't scrawled across the bathroom mirror in red lipstick. It was a short, to the point letter, stating that she no longer loved him the way she used to and that he should make attempts to move on without her. This time apart is well needed, you'll see.   
  
Deciding that the cab should be arriving any moment, Wanda picked up her three suitcases and hauled them downstairs. She noted absently that it was raining heavy buckets outside the mansion. She wondered idly if that was Ororo's doing, or Mother Nature's.   
  
She made it to the front door un-intercepted.   
  
It was past the door that she had problems. Or really just one. Scott. Standing under the front patio's marble ceiling while the rain gushed from heaven behind him. He jerked his chin to the yellow cab behind him.  
  
"Yours?"  
  
She shifted her suitcases. "Yes. I'm sorry, Scott, but it's just not working out."  
  
He shook his head. "Cut the crap, Wanda. I know what you're doing. I'm sorry it *couldn't* work out, but you don't have to leave like you're walking out of a damned epic drama."  
  
She blinked and set her suitcases down beside her. She took a seat on one of them. "What happened? We used to be so... cute together." She said grimly, rubbing her temples.  
  
He too sat on the suitcase adjacent to her. "We just... grew up." He shrugged. "We were young, you know? Maybe in love at one point, but we're not now. Not anymore."  
  
She nodded, strands of golden red dipping over her forehead. "We played one hell of a game of pretend there for awhile, though." She cocked a grin.   
  
He mirrored her expression. "Yeah we did. But it's not for us, anymore." He slid a knuckle across her cheek. "And not for you, either. Go. You've got the money. Go wherever you want. Make yourself happy, Wanda. Don't stay anywhere you don't want to, and don't play pretend anymore."  
  
She met his eyes, or where she imagined them to be hidden behind a ruby prison. Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around him in a long hug. "Thanks, Scott."  
  
He returned the embrace, thankful he was able to reach the sensible side of Wanda he always knew dwelled behind the superficial façade. He smiled. "I'll finalize everything over here. Just let me know where oyu are so I can send you things to sign and stuff."  
  
She nodded. "I can do that." They released each other and the cab honked behind them. Scott turned to her, still holding her shoulders. "Just one thing."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Don't tell my parents where I am."  
  
He laughed out loud, hugging her quick once more. "Your secret's safe with me. So where ya' headed?"  
  
She but her lip and shrugged shortly. Gathering her suitcases, she made her way to the car in the pouring rain. She walked slow, shaking her long hair and smiling as the fat raindrops splashed her eyelids and cheeks. Once at the open car door, the driver exited to throw her bags into the trunk. Before sliding inside, she turned. "What's Hawaii like this time of year?"  
  
He grinned. "Good all year long, baby!"  
  
She laughed, piling into the car and riding off.   
  
  
  
  
  
Hi Hi Hi There! (I like this reference so much better than plain ole "A/N")  
Like the long chapter? Me too!  
If you've got anything to say regarding anything at all, drop a review in the dime box and it will be savored like strawberries. (Mmmm, LOVE strawberries!)   
What am I doing wrong, right, or not doing at all? Tell me and I promise to at least try to make everyone comfy. 


	14. The Open Sore--The Scabbing Wound

"Should I bring towels?"  
  
"Um, no Ororo. I think my parents have a perfectly good supply of towels."  
  
She stuck her tongue out at him. "Well excuse me for trying to be prepared."  
  
He crept behind her, wrapping lean arms around her waist. "We're not roughing it in the wilderness; we're going to my parent's suburban mansion only two hours south."  
  
"I know, I know." She sighed, turning in his arms until their faces were only inches apart. She framed his cheeks with her slim hands. "I think this will be fun."  
  
He kissed her once. "Of course it will. You'll have a great time."  
  
She rocked a little against him. "You mean we. We will have a great time."  
  
Grinning, he nodded. Recollection flashed through his eyes. "Oh wait, I need to run by Bobby's room real quick and grab something." He stepped away form her and exited the bedroom.  
  
  
Robert Worthington was sitting on his bathroom counter, eyes squinted, clipping each fingernail with meticulous care when he noticed his brother standing in the bathroom doorway, tapping his knuckles against the door.   
  
"Hey," Bobby jerked his chin, regarding his only sibling. "I didn't hear you come in."  
  
Warren smiled, backing into the bedroom and promptly beginning to fish through the small, cherry oak jewelry box on Bobby's dresser. "Do you still have that watch I gave you for Easter last year?"  
  
Bobby scooted off the counter and met his brother in front of his towering mirror. "Yeah, I've still got it. Why?" Bobby went to his bedside table and pulled out a blue and gold Rolex from a drawer.  
  
Warren retrieved it, strapping it around his own nimble wrist. "Mom and Dad gave me this thing a couple of years ago for my birthday. I thought I'd maybe wear it this weekend."  
  
Bobby scoffed, slapping Warren's shoulder. "You prick! Giving it to me for Easter; what's your problem?"  
  
Warren chuckled, dodging Bobby's further assaults. "Hey, cool it man. Like you've never done that?" Bobby shrugged, looking away and grinning. Warren nodded. "Uh-huh. So hey, man. You sure you don't want to come with me and 'Ro?"  
  
Bobby shook his head sheepishly. "Oh, naw. You two go. Have a good time."  
  
"You're sure?" Warren asked a final time, backing toward the bedroom door.   
  
Bobby waved him off. "Yeah, hey, go. Send them my love, all right? Tell them I wasn't feeling well and I'm sorry I couldn't make it."  
  
Warren nodded in the definite. "Yeah, no problem. Hey, come here." Warren grabbed his younger brother for a man's man hug- quick, firm, a few solid pats on the back and then a mutual respect as they parted.  
  
  
**  
  
"Well, Scott. We're all heuh; what'd you want?"   
  
Scott stood before his teammates at the head of the briefing table, arms crossed and posture tense. Jean frowned. "Listen up, people. Professor Xavier contacted me this morning and informed me that yesterday he was forced to dissuade a member of Magneto's brotherhood from assassinating Lyle Perrish."  
  
"Who the heck is that?" Bobby asked.  
  
"Next to Senator Kelly, he's the world's second loudest cry for mutant containment. An independent billionaire, the professor thinks he's got major affiliations with the government. Apparently, he was at the genetics conference, as well as Magneto- or at least one of his cronies."  
  
Wolverine leaned back in his chair. "So what the hell do we care what happens to this Perrish bastard? Sounds like it's either us or him."  
  
The team looked to Scott, who shook his head and replied simply, "'Cause that's not what we're about."  
  
"Ah gotta question," Rogue piped. "What exactly did you mean when you said the professah had to 'dissuade' this guy- or girl- from harmin' Perrish?"  
  
"You know, Dixie." Logan said. "The guy *is* a telepath."  
  
Rogue's brows furrowed. Scott shifted in front of them. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I've known the professor for a long time and I know for a fact that he doesn't go snooping around in anyone's mind unless it's absolutely necessary. Believe me, he wasn't just dabbling through the audience's heads. I'm sure he had a good reason."  
  
Remy looked up from where he was slouched staring at his hands. "Take it easy, Cyke. You're defendin' an accusation we haven't even made." He turned and flashed a grin at Rogue. "Scott and his tell-tale heart, eh?"  
  
"Anyways," Scott continued, glaring at Remy from behind his visor, "the professor told us to be prepared for the worst, and that Magneto and his people might provide a counter-attack on us for his failed plan."  
  
The team quieted. "Makes sense," Bobby said lamely.   
  
"And let's not forget that we're three field members short; so stay sharp, people."  
  
Jean smiled at him. "But we'll be alright. I think we're ready."  
  
"Great, a ray of sunshine to brighten our day," Rogue muttered, then met Remy's deep, burning stare. She sighed, lowering her eyes and mumbling a quick, "Sorry," in Jean's direction.  
  
Jean's eyes widened for an instant before she regained her composure. "It's okay," she said quietly.  
  
Cutting through the awkward pause, Scott clasped his hands and said a firm, "Dismissed." The team rose from their respective chairs and dispersed in scattered groups.  
  
  
**  
  
"Hey, wait up, Cajun!"   
  
Remy put the cherry red Corvette in park while Rogue flew to catch up in the driveway. "What's up, chere?"  
  
"Where ya' goin'?" She asked, leaning onto the passenger side door.   
  
He rolled his eyes, fishing a small piece of notepad paper from his inside pocket. "Grocery shopping. My week."  
  
She smiled. "Can Ah come?"  
  
He blinked. "It's not'ing fancy. Just goin' to-"  
  
"Please." Her grin widened.   
  
"'Course, get in."  
  
She hopped over the door and settled into the seat beside him. The front gate slowly swung open, allowing them leave.  
  
"So," Rogue began, her hands combing back her hair in an attempt to lessen the wind's brutal effects as it sent her russet strands swirling around her.   
  
"So," he snuck a peek at her and grinned. "Somet'ing you wanted to talk about?"  
  
Her big olive green eyes opened wide in shock. "Why Remy LeBeau, can't Ah just want to take a li'l ride to the town store? Ah have to have a reason, what's more, an *excuse* to talk to you?"  
  
He nodded. "Alright, alright. Point taken."  
  
She sighed. "Actually, there was somethin'."  
  
He swallowed a smile. "Go on."  
  
She shook her head, chuckling lightly.  
  
He scrunched his eyebrows. "No, come on now. What does my belle have to say dat would embarrass her, hmm?"  
  
"Hey, Ah am *not* embarrassed!" Rogue threw her head back into her seat, covering her face before it blushed scarlet. She calmed herself and turned fully to face him. His eyes darted to her. "No!" She said. "Don't look at me; keep yoah eyes on the road. I'll tell you just don't look at me." He obeyed her request. She took a long breath. "Okay, so, Ah was wonderin', if yoah not busy or anythang, if maybe you'd want to have dinnah with me tonaght, or somethin'."  
  
Remy gripped the steering wheel as his vision blurred. Tonight? With her? Would he!   
  
"Remy, slow down." Rogue warned.  
  
His foot backed off the accelerator after noticing how the car had sped with his pulse.   
  
"So...?" She said, then sighed. "Fohget it. Just...fohg-"  
  
"Hmm, I'll have to check my schedule, but I t'ink I'm free." He brought a hand up to stroke his chin. She swatted him.  
  
"Remy!"  
  
He laughed, ducking from her and bringing the steering wheel with him. The car swerved and she toppled against him. "Oh, real slick, swamp rat," she said, heaving herself off of him.  
  
He winked. "Rogue, you know I'd be de happiest man from New Orleans to take you to dinner tonight."  
  
"I thought you maght feel that way." She grinned playfully. Remy's mouth became considerably dry.  
  
  
**  
  
"Big plans tonight, Gumbo?"  
  
Remy lifted a brow over at Wolverine from where he was racking the balls up in the Rec. Room.   
  
Logan sat on the couch, half-watching a western. An unlit cigar was clenched in his teeth. Remy stared at the back of his head. "D'you say somet'ing, homme?"  
  
Logan spoke again. "I said do you have big plans for the night?"  
  
Remy immediately realized the situation. Aw, how cute. "Yeah, t'ought I'd take her to McDonald's, den maybe swing over to de porn t'eatre and watch De Sperminator, get her in de mood you know, and den take her home and show her how to use dose handcuffs of hers."  
  
  
*  
  
Jean had fingered silk and lace and velvet trim all day and was still empty handed. The truth was, she wasn't exactly sure what Scott liked. Silk or lace? Did a guy honestly care? Keep her options limited to only black or green because they matched her hair color? Could he tell the difference?   
  
Jean let her gaze wonder to the high display wall. She stepped backwards and lifted her chin to get a good stare at the pretty purple ensemble, all silk and lace trim, deep and sinful. Jean sighed. Now *that* was lingerie, and she wanted very much to feel the smooth, cool fabric against her soft skin. Beside it hung an identical black version of the outfit. Jean blinked. Black was nice, traditional; it matched. She tilted her head. But it didn't have the same... rich something that the purple one had. Jean stepped back further to increase her view until she collided with something.  
  
"Ooomph! Oh, I'm... Rogue?"  
  
"Jean!"   
  
  
*  
  
  
Logan stood slowly and turned. "Wow, you're pretty fuckin' hilarious."  
  
Remy shook his head and bent at the waist to break with his cue. "Give me a break, Wolverine. What de hell do you t'ink I'm going to do?"  
  
"I don't know, Remy, but I can tell you right now that if you give her any more shit than what she already has to deal with, I'll slice you myself."  
  
Remy stood. "Go to hell. You know how I feel about her."  
  
"Just telling you."  
  
"Yeah well t'anks for de warning, Dad. Are you finished?"  
  
Logan removed the stogie form his mouth. "Yeah, I think that just about covers it."  
  
"Good, den get your damned cue and let's play some pool."  
  
  
*  
  
The two women smiled nervously, averting their eyes and toying with the lingerie around them.   
  
"So," Jean cleared her throat. "Um, what... what's up?"  
  
Rogue shook her head. "Uh nothin'. Nothing much, just, uh, just lookin'."  
  
Jean nodded. "Ah." Silence. "So was I; I mean, me too." She tossed a glance behind her. "Can I, um," Rogue met her eyes encouragingly and Jean sighed, smiling, "Can I get your opinion on something?"  
  
Rogue blinked. Shrugging a shoulder, she replied, "Shoah, what is it?"  
  
"Well, the thing is, which one do you think would look better on me? I like the black, but the purple is just..."  
  
"Wow."  
  
*  
  
Magneto watched the women from the security headquarters of the department store, the usual security guard lying in a crumpled heap at his feet. The silver-haired man leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. The coincidental arrival of the two X-Women sent wheels reeling in his brain. Originally, his plan was to demolish the department store, regardless of human casualties- just a little something to grab their attention and get them on his battlegrounds. Oddly enough though, two of Xavier's students were already on his territory and Magneto quickly decided that he could just as soon take the ladies out. That would surely get the X-Men running.   
  
He smiled thinly, creasing the crowfeet at his murky blue eyes.  
  
  
*  
  
Moments later, Rogue and Jean stood in line to purchase their items, waiting in awkward silence and listening to the steady beep beep of the cash register and the young blonde cashier smack away at her gum. Though nearly ten minutes of civility had passed between them, neither was yet sure of the other's opinion of her.   
  
Rogue's hand suddenly flew to her hip. "Oh damn it! I left my purse in the fitting room. Ah'll be raght back."   
  
Jean watched her flounce off and turned to eye the line once more. She fumbled with her wristwatch, pretending not to notice the greedy-eyed gentleman just behind her.   
  
"Ah'm back," Rogue declared, approaching Jean at a swift walk. The redhead smiled and promptly received a solid punch across the cheek. Before her eyes, Rogue's body melted, morphing quickly into a deep shade of blue and scales. Bystanders screamed and scurried, stumbling over bags and strollers.  
  
"What the...?" Amidst her bewilderment, Jean wasn't prepared for the following swing against her mouth. She forwent a telekinetic shield and opted instead for a strong mind shove at the creature. Consumed in her fight with the blue shape-shifter, the X-Woman didn't predict the sticky tongue around her ankle from ten feet behind and yanking hard, slamming her belly-down onto the ground.   
  
Jean noticed Rogue running from the fitting rooms and vaguely wondered if it was the real thing this time but her doubts were smothered when the southern pistol screamed, "Who the hell are you, Blue?" She sucker-punched the mysterious mutant in the gut and began her own battle while Jean faced off against the enormous frog creature.   
  
The two X-Women were mildly successful in holding their own until two more mutants appeared. One of the new arrivals - a snarling blonde beast - threw Jean against a far display wall while a slime-slicked tongue coiled tightly around Rogue's neck.  
  
Jean stood shakily, nursing the wound bleeding at her head and immediately throwing up a T.K. shield. The bear mutant threw itself at the defense with startling ferocity. SKRAK! He sliced violently at the shield. Jean shivered, watching the shape-shifter watch the toad strangle a wildly struggling Rogue.   
  
*  
  
"Hey there."  
  
Bobby looked up from the paper he held and smiled. "Hi Emma."  
  
She walked from behind the bush from which she'd peeked and took a seat beside him on the bench. She looked out at the clear, cool pool and the blue waters reflected smoothly in her eyes. "Whatchya' reading?"  
  
He held up a black and white page splashed with blocks of color. "Comics."  
  
She snorted. "But of course, Bobby." They smiled. "So what's the matter; why didn't you take off with your brother and Ororo?"  
  
He shrugged, thumbing through Buckets and Zits and Peanuts. "Just not in the mood to see the folks, I guess."  
  
Emma smoothed back already sleek blonde hair. "Aw c'mon. I know your family can't be too bad. They raised strapping young men like your brother and you." She leaned closer to the youngest Worthington. "What's really the problem, hmm?"  
  
Bobby couldn't suppress the grin spilling at his lips. He sighed, defeated. "I don't know. Don't get me wrong; I love Ororo to death. She's just what Warren needs. But I think with her much-appreciated presence, I might feel like the third wheel. I can just feel my mother's eyes on me now, her gaze shifting up and down as if to say, 'And when, Robert, are *you* going to find someone?'"  
  
"Afraid to get married?" Emma asked, arching a fine brow.  
  
"Nah," Bobby replied.   
  
"Just haven't found the right girl?"  
  
He chuckled dryly. "They're all right to me." The two blonde billionaires eyed each other for a moment.  
  
  
*  
  
"Come out of your bubble you little bitch and let us play like we're gonna play with your friend here." SKRAK! Jean heard the menacing words from the large hairy monster. He leaned until her telekinetic energy hummed at his closeness. "She is one hot bitch. I'm sure I speak for Toad too when I say, I want to hear her scream real bad."  
  
Jean watched Rogue claw at Toad with desperation. SKRAK! It was obvious that the frog was becoming worried at Rogue's growing fury and strength. The blue woman assisted her comrade by attempting to hold still the Mississippian's flailing limbs.   
  
SKRAK! Jean winced. That attack sent a slice of pain echoing through her head. She realized her shield was not going to last much longer. Jean pondered her situation. Leave now, alive, or attempt to overpower Toad and the Blue Woman and snatch Rogue.  
  
"Let her be, Sabertooth. It doesn't take phenomenal wit to discern that your pursuits are getting you nowhere." A man with slick silver hair lowered onto the ground beside her shield. "You know who I am," he began.  
  
Magneto, Jean spat silently.   
  
He nodded at the realization in her eyes, sparing a glance behind him where a now motionless Rogue and Toad sat listening. "We only need one of you, I think. She'll do fine." He smiled genuinely at Jean. "You may go." He shooed her off with a flippant, condescending brush of the hand.   
  
Jean swallowed hard, her blood rushing rivers to her ears and raging through her head. Leave her? Toad watched her weigh her options and tightened his grip on her teammate. Rogue resumed struggling, a fresh string of curses thrown at him. In time, Jean decided, Rogue would undoubtedly free herself from Toad and kill him. But then what? The others would take his place and she'd be left to fight alone. Rogue was good, but she wasn't three-to-one good.   
  
Jean inhaled deeply, summoning the genetic power surging through her veins from all parts of her body and mind. It sang within her like a plucked, taut rubber band. She mustered the strength to send Toad flying back while simultaneously yanking Rogue into her telekinetic shield. Sabertooth's reactions were quick though, and he had been anticipating her letting her shield down. With a feral roar, he sliced a final time at her body, catching only her thigh and leg.   
  
Rivulets of warm sticky blood ran down her limb and splattered onto the glossy department store floor. The searing pain let her concentration escape and she lost her telekinetic grip on Rogue and herself. Jean felt herself falling and heard herself screaming at the white-hot stinging through her leg. The hard floor zoomed closer and closer, down, down, down to the four angry mutants waiting hungrily like a pack of rabid animals.   
  
And then she was rising, rising, rising. Dead. Angel. Heaven.  
  
  
"Stay with me, sugah. We both know Scott'll kill me if Ah come home with yoah corpse."  
  
"Rogue?" Jean croaked. Her throat was so damned dry. And God was there pain in her leg.  
  
The toad was frantically climbing the walls while Magneto vainly attempted to bar the skylights before Rogue could bust through them. But the southerner was flying at a desperate speed and she was too quick for Magneto's hurried pursuits.  
  
"Of course, gal. You didn't think Ah'd..."  
  
Jean blacked out in the flying woman's arms.  
  
  
**  
  
"Did you hear me, Bobby? I asked you what the deal with us was"  
  
Robert Worthington blinked, facing away from the beautiful blonde he had slept with on more than one occasion, last night for instance. She met his eyes in the mirror where he buttoned up his yellow collared shirt. Clad in one of his very own oversized tee shirts, Emma approached him, spinning him to face her. "Well?"  
  
He stood uncomfortably and spun back around, fiddling nervously with his buttons. "I don't know Emma. I mean, not that I don't think you're beautiful, or smart, or fun, it's just..." He tucked his shirt in. "I'm kind of a jerk. I've never been with a girl for more than two months, just ask War." He turned and met her gaze sheepishly.   
  
Emma's eyebrows rose and she took slow steps toward Bobby before shoving him against the mirror and pressing her body against the length of his own and whispering, "Then I will just have to tame you then, won't I?"   
  
Speechless, Bobby sputtered on air for a moment until he cracked a slow, wide grin. "Yea, I guess so."  
  
She stepped back, hands on her slim hips and eyes dancing. "You guess so?"  
  
Bobby rolled up his sleeves. "Definitely."  
  
**  
  
The next morning, the sun, oblivious to Earth's woes, rose in all her golden glory. She poured her light onto the Westchester Estate, kissing flowers and weeds alike and peeking through the fine-drawn curtains within the mansion.  
  
"Mmmm, who was that?" Jean yawned, rolling over in bed to face Scott's back. He sat, legs swung over the side, putting down the telephone receiver.   
  
"Warren. I told him about the incident at the department store. He asked if I wanted him and Ororo to come back."  
  
She sat up, ignoring the dull throb on her right side. "You told him absolutely not, right?"  
  
Scott nodded, smiling. "In more or less words." He leaned over her, staring intently. Her hair spilled across the pale pearly pillows, creamy skin bronzed. "How are you feeling?"  
  
She stroked his hair. "I'd feel a lot better if you kissed me." She tugged him down to plant a full kiss on his open lips.  
  
  
**  
  
Hours away, another young couple got an early start on the day when she roused her lover at five a.m. to see the big autumn sun rise. They walked hand in hand around the small suburban streets, window-shopping and giggling between themselves.  
  
Ororo caught sight of a quaint candle shop to their left. "I'll be right back," she stated, slipping from his grasp and entering the store. She was hit with spicy scents and rich incense. She stepped easily, looking over the merchandise and handling the occasional small candle to inhale its sweet aroma.   
  
She swung the bag full of wax goodies at her side and spotted Warren peering through a glass window shop, hands stuffed in his khaki pockets and hunched with precise consideration. 'I only see him that serious when he's buying stock,' she laughed quietly. Opting for stealth, Storm crept behind Warren on tiptoe.   
  
"Guess who?" She threw her leather-gloved hands over his eyes.  
  
He spun quickly, suppressing a yelp and pulling her close. "Ororo! God gorgeous," he breathed, leading her away from the display at which he'd been staring intently.   
  
She slipped from his hold. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What's the big secret?" Her eyes danced like blue symphonies. She side stepped his dodging attempts to block her and gasped when she saw them: rows and rows of perfect diamonds sitting on their tiny thrones of black velvet. "Warren..." She breathed.  
  
He was still. "Yeah?"  
  
She faced him, smiling widely. "What do you say we go get some breakfast?"  
  
He exhaled deeply. "I'd love to. But first," he pulled her close and kissed her fervently. She responded by running slim fingers through his honey hair.  
  
  
**  
  
Residents of the mansion shuffled groggily downstairs in warm slippers or cotton robes. Bobby encouraged the team to assemble in the den to watch the premiere of the newest early morning cartoon, 'The Extraordinaries.' It was a blatant rip-off of the X-Men themselves with a little bit of the Fantastic Four mixed in. One by one, flopped on oversized pillows on the floor or cuddled comfortably into a blanket on a couch, the X-Men watched their fabricated identities appear on the cast list.   
  
"Freezer!?" Bobby exclaimed. "Oh my God, that's just insulting." Emma smirked beside him.  
  
"At least yoah dressed! What am Ah wearing?"  
  
Remy brushed her thigh with a fingertip. "Or more like, not wearing, neh?" The beautiful Mississippian swatted him with a pillow, tucking what she could of her bare legs under the white button-down shirt of Remy's she wore.   
  
Scott shifted, causing Jean to adjust her head on his stomach. He snorted. "Please, I sound like some anal military officer."   
  
Bobby blinked. "If we were anything less than the mature human beings we are, we could do so much with that remark, Scotty."  
  
Rogue eyed Scott and her gaze traveled down to Jean. The redhead was toying with the edge of her silk robe. Rogue caught a peek of deep violet from underneath and couldn't conceal the smile playing at her lips. Jean caught her gaze and giggled regarding Rogue's own apparel.  
  
Rogue turned, snuggling into Remy's chest and deeply inhaling the scent of cigarettes and cologne. She vaguely wondered where Logan was and hoped he was present for the professor's return today.   
  
  
*  
  
Wolverine smothered the cigar under the heel of his boot. Stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets, he peered out over the glossy lake. It wasn't going to be a sunny day, but it would be hot and still and the thick aroma of honeysuckle was already overwhelming the stocky Canadian. His ears perked, catching the distant rumble of car on gravel. He turned, making his way toward the professor's limousine.   
  
The tinted black window slid down to reveal the professor. His face was tired, but obviously glad to be home. "Ah, Logan, you'll be the first to tell me firsthand how things progressed upon my absence. How are you?"  
  
He shrugged. "I'm on the right side of the grass, Chuck."  
  
Xavier's eyebrows furrowed but soon relaxed again. "And the others?"  
  
"Why don't ya' go see for yourself; they're dying to see ya'."  
  
"Scott informed me of a slight scuffle while I was away?"  
  
Logan pulled out another cigar but decided against lighting it in front of Xavier, opting instead to let it pinch between his teeth. "Yeah, but, it wasn't a big deal. It turned out all right."  
  
Charles smiled, the window sliding back up and the sleek black car rolling away.  
  
Wolverine brought the cigar away, breathing the fresh air in until it consumed his lungs. Maybe he could get used to this place.   
  
  
Xavier sat, pondering Logan's words in the backseat of his expensive transportation. He thought about his nine students, his friends, his children. He leaned into his seat and prepared to greet each and every one of them. Logan was a wiser man than he himself knew: It would indeed turn out all right.  
  
  
The End  
  
  
  
  
  
Well hello  
Okay, I had a few other scenes for this chapter and it was big enough to divide into two, but after editing, most of the ones I cut out simply seemed too superfluous or like a ton of bricks hitting you at the end; like, for instance, I thought about fitting in a scene of Rogue and Remy's date, but I couldn't think of any original ideas and I hate to be cliché. And then I thought about having Ororo and Warren come back in the last scene - her with a ring on her finger and them having just eloped, but I decided to leave it where it is. So there you have it folks. Why the name Gloss? Heh heh heh...yeah. I'm currently working on the Burnish Rose project, and also, a sequel to an earlier story that I just can't leave alone for the life of me...   
  
Gawd, I'm such a dork:) 


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